


After The Fall

by Suchsmallhands



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Artist Harry, Bottom Louis, Boy Love, M/M, Model Louis, Painter Harry, Prompt Fill, San Francisco, This isn't modern day, Top Harry, but I don't know when it is, city, that's the city!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suchsmallhands/pseuds/Suchsmallhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a painter in need of a model and Louis is answering the coffee flyer.</p><p>-<br/> <br/><em>Wanted--Model to pose for painting of "Satan After the Fall." If you think you look like Satan, apply at studio of Barbara Ferris, 32 Institute Place.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to a prompt which was floating around on tumblr. With a little research, I found the flyer was from a movie called "The Penalty" by Worsley. Never seen it.  
> Hope this is good.  
>  _Please comment or leave kudos if you appreciated, anything is widely appreciated. x_
> 
> Tumblr @ thisshipsailsitselff

_Wanted--Model to pose for painting of "Satan After the Fall." If you think you look like Satan, apply at studio of Barbara Ferris, 32 Institute Place._

A flyer taped to the bulletin board in the San Francisco city hall stained with not only coffee rings, but blotched as if the coffee had been spilled on a stack of the flyers. Louis read it again, the crease in his brow accentuated with an estranged smile on his thin lips.  
"Louis!" Liam's voice called as he strode to his side, shuffling past others under the pale lights. His shoes paced across the slick tile flooring, papers fluttering in his hand as he hoisted the strap of his satchel onto his shoulder. His mouth slightly open, warm, dark scruff growing on his jaw and thick brunette waves falling far too gracefully over his forehead for one with a gate that reflected steadiness and discipline.  
"Yes, mum?" Louis gave him a friendly appraisal. Noticing Liam's unamused flatting of gaze.  
"Did you get any applications?"  
Jobs. Money. Obligation. Avoiding poverty. Right.  
"Yep." He nodded, facing the coffee stained plee for Satan.  
Liam turned his gaze to the flyer, all focus and attention. The look was amusing to Louis as it turned rapidly to disdain.  
"That's not a job." He shook his head at him, exasperated. "These are jobs." He shook the frazzled group of papers in his hands.  
"Excuse me, Liam." Louis plucked the flyer from the board, carefully folding it into his coat pocket. In mind that this is, of course, the exact sort of thing that keeps him from a steady, hard working employment. "This is an application," He patted his cheek, turning on his heel. "Thank you very much."  
He grinned in cheap, mild amusement as Liam's disapproval radiated along after him. He strolled from the hall, gliding down the stone steps as Liam chastised him irritably, nodding, rolling his eyes and lifting his brow in the right places.  
"Don't think I won't get another roommate if you can't pay the rent." He threatened, sounded less than. "Friend or not."  
"Yes, of course." Louis nodded, leading them down the street as the city hummed around them. "I haven't yet cut short on rent yet, have I?"  
"You come close every month." Liam frowned, the concern resonating with more focus on his companion rather than on the money.  
"It frazzles you." Louis offered, easy expression gazing at his friend, shoulders relaxed. He wasn't pleased with being poor, although most youth of the city were, or particularly comfortable with his instability. Distress, however, isn't a good look on himself. He finds it easier to cope with sly, charming smiles.  
"It frazzles me." 

-

Ferris, 32 Institute Place. This was it.  
Louis looked up at the brass plate over the door, dark number marked in the metal. The hallway was cramped and short, the window at the end of it stained and allowing of little clarity in view. Below the window, a staircase led to the floor below.  
He stepped inside, met with a cupboard sized entrance to what looked like an art supplies shop. The room held an equally cramped counter, behind it an open door to another room.  
Louis wandered forward, looking around and leaning against the vacant counter. Drumming his fingers, he waited. He leaned forward to look at the inside of the counter, letting his hands wander and brush over the few papers littering the top.  
He unbuttoned his coat, the room proving rather warm. The stagnant air smelled of earthy wood and chalk, a base of warmth over layed with a sharp intrusion of chemical paint scents.  
Louis looked around curiously as he rounded the counter and into the back room. Inside was a store room. The chaos was hardly understandable, but clearly recognizable to whomever owned the stock.  
He paused, a quiet murmur finding his ear. The sound of conversation, calm and relaxed. He followed the sound, the shop quiet without it as he found his way through the narrow rows between shelves of art supplies.  
Behind the store room, a doorway with a thin, tattered but still whole curtain hung across the opening. The corners nailed to the door frame. He reached for the edge, small fingers gentle drawing it back as he peaked inside.  
A studio, with two people inside. The room was perhaps half or less the size of the stock room. Across the floor, several sheets littered the wood as if to protect from paint, stools here and there, and a couch with a table in front of it. The two men stood at an easel.  
The first he saw, dark haired and thin. His eyes were estranged, here nor there, deep brown. His jaw littered with scruff, his arm crossed over his ribs and one hand brushing his chin as he looked at the easel. Behind the easel, once he lifted his head, Louis saw the next. He was taller than either of them, curly brunette hair to his broad shoulders and a seemingly common crease in his straight, serious brow. Nice hands.  
"Perhaps you shouldn't have made the flyer so abrasive." The first mumbled, gaining an impatient eye roll from the other.  
"I don't have time for formalities and appeasement." He muttered.  
"If you did, maybe you'd have a model by now."  
"I don't want every aspiring vogue model in here, anyways."  
"I-", the dark man began, "Hey!" He lifted his head, straightening as he noticed Louis. A look of incredulous surprise and confusion in his expression as the other paused to look up as well.  
"Hello." Louis raised his brows, smiling.  
"Uh..." He shook his head, "You didn't think to wait at the counter?"  
"You didn't think to attend said counter?" Louis intercepted, smirking, "Honestly, at least put a ringer out there."  
They looked at him, unamused in the silence.  
"You're here for?" The man asked. Louis produced the flyer from his coat, stepping into the room a bit more.  
"Your model?" They paused, a quick roaming of their eyes not lost on Louis as they examined him in the light of a potential, if unconventionally introduced, model.  
"What's your name?" He asked.  
"Louis."  
"Zayn." He crossed his arms, as if not sure what to make of him. Louis didn't understand his hesitation, nothing but a counter and a formal greeting standing in the way of any other sort of introduction.  
"Have you ever modeled before?" He asked, brow furrowing. He was quite pretty, Louis thought.  
"No." Louis shook his head, unable to refrain from a quiet smirk as Zayn's expression flattened. He reacted remarkably like Liam.  
Before Zayn could speak further, a call from the front room sounded in questioning. A customer looking for an attendant. Zayn frowned, glancing at the other and jerking his head in some way that communicated him leaving them alone. Zayn gave him one last once over as he slipped behind the curtain.  
Louis turned to face the man at the easel as he rounded the side of it and came closer to him. Louis' smirk faded in distraction as the tall man approached him, inspecting eyes roaming over him once before speaking.  
"I was looking for Satan." He murmured. His voice was deep and would be warm if not paired with a hardness that Louis found not deterring at all.  
"And I'm here." He tilted his head, interested as the man's expression shifted quietly, remaining however hard.  
"You don't look like Satan." Louis' brow creased incredulously, shaking his head.  
"What is he supposed to look like?"  
"Not like that." He didn't miss a beat. Louis couldn't help but find it interesting as he kept up with his sharp tone.  
"Well, that's subjective, isn't it? He's not supposed to be red and evil, looking. Isn't he supposed to be the most beautiful of the angels? Shit artist you are, then, are you? Haven't you done any research?" Louis tilted his head, amusement in his eyes. "Here I am, waiting. And beautiful."  
Louis tried to work whatever beauty he'd been told he had, leaning into his hip, letting his body loose and his jaw and neck exposed in the tilt of his head.  
He seemed to take some mild sort of offense, slight disbelief in this boy who insulted his ability for his supposed passion. His tone responded challenged by him.  
"Beauty with an undertone in it. Of displacement. Off. Not belonging. Discontent. Evil. I don't see it." His eyes didn't stray from his. He didn't seem to be interested in looking for this offset tone in Louis. Distracted by the attitude in him, and reflexively dismissive.  
But interested. Louis noticed.  
"Perhaps you've overlooked." Louis lifted his tilted chin, refusing to be dismissed so readily. The man's head shifted back and his dismissive expression twinkled with a searching element. He was interested in this abrasive painter and, if he wasn't wrong, assumed the painter was curious of him as well.  
The man took his arm and moved him towards a chair in a section of the room, placed on top of a stained, tangle sheet on the ground. He leaned Louis against it, stepping back and pausing. Louis became smaller, body relaxed against the chair and passive in the room now, despite his active personality.  
In the corner of his eye, he noticed a coffee cup on the table near the couch.  
Louis sat naturally, not thinking about posing for a spectator. He was distracted by the painter as he looked him over. He was tall, his shoulders drawn back more than before as he stared, an energized searching in his eyes. Tattoos, Louis noticed.  
As he looked at him, Louis looked back. He looked in curiosity and interest as Harry watched his gaze, searching his eyes for feeling he had overlooked initially.  
They stared for a quiet minute, evaluating equally. Confused mildly, and growing attention.  
A silent discovery being made.  
"I'm Harry." He spoke, voice steady and sure as he broke the silence.  
"Hello, Harry." He hummed, raspy, high voice quieter.  
"I'll write down my information, we'll meet here on Monday. Don't be late." He watched Louis quietly for a moment.  
"Agreed." He nodded, standing, eyes never leaving him. He took one step forward, appraising him once more before sliding past him to the door. "Monday!"  
The curtain swung closed behind him, leaving the beautiful painter behind.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis was comfortable and curious as he stepped inside the studio. He watched as Harry shed his coat and picked up paints and pencils, moving towards the easel and setting things in place.  
"I like the rain today, it's nice." Louis chirped, "Good weather for coffee."  
Harry glanced up at him from the easel, expression serious as ever and unreadable.  
"This isn't a chatting sort of thing." He walked forward and pulled the stool to a point he liked, looking around at the grainy lighting. Louis didn't feel offended, one side of his mouth quirking in a smile. He watched Harry pull a small box closer to the easel simply to set a cup of coffee onto, the luke warm liquid inside black.  
"Black coffee..." Louis mumbled, "I like tea." He wasn't normally chatty, but Harry interested him. It seemed easy to chat in the comfort of the room and the ease of his own disposition, in spite of Harry's intensity and disconnection.  
"Okay, you can get naked now." Harry spoke, straightening up and placing his hands on his hips. The room was small, a low ceiling, and Louis suddenly became aware of how empty it was of anyone other than the two of them.  
"What?" He tilted his chin down, brow raising.  
"You can strip now, my rendition is naked." He nodded, eyes unaffected by the topic.  
"You couldn't have told me that before?" His brow creased indignantly.  
"You either will get naked or you won't get naked, please decide." His voice became flatter and less patient, direct and to the point. The word 'please' sounding out of place in his tone and manner, as if a conscious decision to say it instead of sincerity.  
Louis thought for a moment, eyes pensive. He looked up and away awkwardly before bringing his fingers to his coat, sighing as he unbuttoned and shrugged the comforting weight off the slope of his shoulders. He lay it over the table and unbuckled his belt, then unbuttoned his trousers, then slid them off to be placed with his coat. He pulled his shirt off, shifting his shoulders to stretch the muscle as he evaluated Harry's stare. He was still watching him as if casually, with nothing else to do.  
"Is it necessary that you stare?" Louis sneered, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.  
"That's irrelevant, I'm going to be staring at you for the next few hours." He answered logically, shrugging his shoulders as if obvious.  
Louis found the slight display of mannerisms pleasing.  
He thought as much before hooking his thumbs into the waist band of his briefs, meeting Harry's eyes with dead stillness, a tinge of confidence as he pulled them off. Harry didn't blink at his gaze, even staring back for a moment. He watched as if mildly interested with Louis' expression, missing the unveiling. He did nothing to hide as he casually looked at his penis.  
"Okay." He nodded, turning back to sip his coffee, as unaffected by the nudity as possible. Louis found it amusing.  
"Just had to paint my dick today, of course." Louis muttered as he stepped towards the chair, adjusting to walking naked in the room.  
"Probably won't be, today." Harry mumbled, following him to the chair and scooting it an inch as if forgetting that he'd already decided where it would be. "Besides, I'm not detailing your cock."  
"Then why am I ass naked?" He crossed his arms, smirking.  
"Do you really intend on asking me this many questions?" He paused, frowning down at him.  
"Well, I am naked for your cause, you should answer my questions." He returned, not intimidated by his height.  
"I'm paying you." Louis gave him a flat look. "I don't know how to explain it. I need to see you, all of you, out of your clothes. Not just your body, you, naked. Because that's what's in the piece, it has to translate. No more questions?"  
He seemed unused to having to play by another's rules. Most probably couldn't keep up with his attitude.  
"Sure." Louis smiled, sitting on the stool and holding the sides, sitting up straight. Harry looked at his eyes for a minute as if perplexed before they glanced down at his body. He turned away and sat at the easel.  
Louis watched him, as interested in his painter as the painter was in his subject.  
"Relax the muscles." Harry noted, and Louis noticed his posture, active and interested. He easily relaxed, shifting on the chair and getting comfortable. He was surprised by how easy it was to get comfortable when naked without shifting his penis or worrying about the provocativeness of his stance. His shoulders sloped and he leaned into his seat with more comfort, even his eyes calming as he listened to the distant sound of rain.  
Harry started, the room quieting. It lasted for nearly twenty minutes.  
"What is this painting for?" Louis asked, breaking the silence. His head tilted to the side.  
"What?" Harry's brow was creased as he looked up, distracted.  
"What will you do with the painting?"  
"I'll give it to the art professors at the university, maybe they'll share it with the museum." Harry returned to the painting as if the conversation was over. Louis' smile grew softly at his assuredness, as if he didn't expect input from others. Louis couldn't help his input, too tempted to interrupt him when he was so sure he wouldn't be, would have anyways.  
"Will they pay you for it?" Harry looked up, eyes more aware now.  
"No." He answered curtly.  
"Why? You're giving it to them for free?" His eyes flickered with annoyance now.  
"It will still be mine, legally. But I'm painting it for people who are giving me an opportunity, so I'll give it to them."  
"Oh." He hummed quieting. Harry returned to work. "Do you need others to see your work?"  
Harry's expression crimped, shoulders tensing. He pulled away from the easel, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before speaking.  
"Look, I really don't like talking to the subject. Regardless of the fact that I can't paint and talk at the same time." He kept his expression tight and controlled, trying to explain and quiet him.  
"Why not?"  
"Because- I- It doesn't matter." Harry exaggerated, looking confused at how Louis was controlling his actions when he was used to controlling the actions of his work environment.  
"Plenty of things don't technically matter, but we still do them. Just tell me." Louis pressed, "Please." He smiled winningly and playfully.  
Harry put his hands over his face, rubbing roughly and grumbling.  
"I don't know how to explain it, it makes it different. I just don't do it."  
"That's interesting."  
Harry waited, sighing.  
"You're not going to stop talking until you're pleased, are you." Harry muttered, squaring him with a look. Louis shook his head.  
He laughed as Harry heaved an aggravated sigh, pulling his chair away from the easel and leaning his elbows on his knees.  
"What do you want to say?" He spoke as if severely uncomfortable with complying.  
"Is this the only thing you do? Do you have a job?" Harry rubbed his forehead.  
"No, I work at this shop with Zayn and I take classes at the university."  
It went on as Louis chatted, asking the questions he'd been wondering. He noticed Harry's ability to look at his eyes when he looked at him, not his body, as if completely natural. When he did look at him it was with aggravation and muffled confusion, unsure of why he was allowing this small, naked, sharp-tongued man to run his time.  
He, none the less, leaned his head on his hand and listened as Louis asked him questions.  
"Do you normally paint people? Models?" He hummed.  
"I've had my fair share. But, no. Not normally." He answered, his irritation seeming capped for the time being, his responses short and simple an objective of appeasing him in mind.  
"Do you not like it?" Harry paused, expression unchanging before answering.  
"I don't prefer it, but I don't dislike it."  
"Are your models normally naked?"  
"No, and normally not this insufferable." Louis' head tipped back a bit to laugh.  
"You know, I don't think I've ever had a full conversation with someone naked before. Not like... out of context. I've spoken to people while naked, but not like this."  
Harry certainly could have responded with a cutting comment, but for some reason he didn't seem to find it necessary. He hummed and watched, eyes more quiet and slightly impatient than actively displeased, now. Silence lulled comfortably, a strange break from Louis' curiosity and Harry's aggravation.  
"Will you demand that I speak to you before getting any work done every time we meet?" Harry asked, tone even.  
"No. I can't say I won't be convinced to break and chat at times, but no." Louis answered, letting the quiet reign momentarily. "I'd like to continue the painting now." He spoke simply and contently, shifting into his seat comfortably.  
Harry was quiet for a moment, looking at his face, then his chest and body. He sat up and returned to the painting, the room quiet and the sound of the pattering rain returning.  
Louis felt calm and unusually good in the room. Even comfortable, his mind usually wandered to what was next and what had been before. Somewhere in the silence and the movement of Harry's eyes, he stopped being aware of what he would do after, aware of how enough his current moment was.  
His heart felt less adverse to his painter now, an unknown harmony being found in his gaze as it slid over and through Louis, seeing everything there was to see at first sight.  
When it was over, Louis felt as if half asleep, although awake. Harry finished and was still for a long while. Louis not aware at all of his stillness, eyes only half on him at all. Harry stood and gained his attention with his breaking of the timeless cycle they'd found in the silence of his gaze.  
He retrieved Louis' underwear, body stiff for a few steps from sitting. Bringing them to him, Louis seated passively on the stool, open hands taking his clothes slow; only now noticing the pleasure in standing and moving after the hours. Louis slipping them on and feeling strange as he clothed himself. Before he'd felt naked when disrobing, now he felt he had to adjust to the safety of his clothes.  
He did so quickly, telling Harry he'd see him the next day as he slipped sleepily through the curtain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that this is an information dump atrocity, but... sorry.

Days of painting, the sessions in the pin drop silence of the back room pass with little interruption. Occasionally, Louis convinced him to speak before hand, always softening his hardness by a few measures only for it to return shortly after. He never attempted to interrupt him in the middle of the session again, however, saving all chats for before hand which Harry reluctantly allowed.  
He wasn't an overly talkative person, but if it were up to Harry they wouldn't exchange any words farther than instructions ever. Perhaps not even greetings or goodbyes, only quick thanks for the hours of stiff posing were initiated by Harry himself.  
Liam was a busy housemate, usually in school and work, when at home he was too tired to do anything other than study or play the logic and word games that the daily newspaper published. He was curious however, asking a few questions about how it was going. For now his financial worry for Louis was sedated, money being earned every few days that he went to the sessions, but he knew that it was dormant in Liam and it gave him quiet pulses of guilt and stress if he thought about it.  
The city was sleepy today, a Sunday afternoon, the side walks less concentrated and the people less urgent. Louis made his way to the studio at a stroll, even the sunlight was warmer, slowing him down.  
At the shop, he walked behind the counter and through the dim store room, lined with organized chaos, pushing the curtain to the studio aside. Zayn was here today, as he was most days though he usually left shortly after or before Louis arrived. He waved at Louis quietly, reclined against the couch against the back wall, a book in his hands. He noticed the cover, lettered with the name of an author Liam liked.  
Harry was staring at the canvas with a look of focus that bordered on cutting hostility, his gaze passing from it to the stack of sketches in his hands. Louis paused, gaining a glance from Zayn, watching Harry for a moment. He was usually an interesting look. Today he was dressed in a loose shirt that hung below his collar, displaying tattoos that Louis could see the hint of from this angle. Louis appreciated his profile for a moment, the slope of his shoulders and the crease in his brow. His mouth frowning as he looked between the canvas and the sketches, eyes looking almost innocent as a confused or disgruntled child. His hair was swept up in a bun, a whole new and beautiful look on him. His face was angular and well balanced in features, his jaw flowing defined and smoothly into his neck.  
He eventually exhaled heavily, lifting his head to glance at Zayn and sighting Louis, eyes coloring with surprise.  
"Hey." Louis smiled.  
"How long have you been standing there?" Harry frowned, looking at Zayn.  
"A while," Zayn answered, "He's been staring." Zayn's eyes returned to his book, Louis lifting his eyebrows. He wouldn't argue that, he had been staring. Harry frowned as he normally did, standing and setting the sketches on the table nearby.  
"We're going somewhere else today." Harry told him, picking up his coat from a chair and sliding it on.  
"Where?"  
"To mine and Zayn's place." He stood in front of him, looking much bigger than he really was below the low ceiling and in the thigh length, dark coat which made him look posh and even more out of reach than his disposition already achieved.  
"Okay." Louis nodded his head and turned around, pushing through the curtain with Harry behind him. As they exited the shop and tapped down the stairs, he asked, "Is this for the painting?"  
"Yes."  
"What are we doing?" They opened the door and stepped onto the street.  
"Speaking." Harry answered, leading the way. The rest of the walk was speechless, the streets quiet and continuously more so as they found their way to a building of apartments. It was nice, Louis thought, similar to his and Liam's. The sun hit the face of the building boldly and reflected off of the windows, all of them differing. Some open, some with dark or light curtains, some half boarded over. Harry led the way inside, unlocking the door and letting them inside. Closing it behind him, the noise of the outside faded, leaving Louis to look around with curiosity. It was simple and comfortable, as expected.  
Harry walked them up the stairway to the second floor. There was a living room and a kitchen aside, two bedrooms on either side of the living room. Louis felt cozy, the sunlight flowing through the curtains on the windows into the living room, over the furniture and onto the floor.  
Harry slid his coat off and Louis did as well, letting him take it and lay them over a chair. He turned to Louis and, with his expression neutral, spoke.  
"I need you to tell me what makes you feel badly." Louis frowned in confusion.  
"What?"  
"Tell me all of the things that make you feel bad." He reiterate.  
"Plenty of things make every one sad, what do you mean?"  
"I mean, the things that make your heart hurt personally. Things that have happened to you that make you darker. Things that make you see your life differently. What makes your heart hurt. Deeply. You can tell about the temporary hurts and the long term, as well. Whatever you're most afraid of. What you try not to think about. What has made you hurt. Anything you would respond to that question." He spoke simply and factually as if what he'd said weren't personal. Louis' brow creased and his chin lowered, a tone of depth and negativity coloring his eyes. He frowned, shaking his head.  
"I don't want to talk about something like that... You can't just bring things up out of a perfectly normal day, things that serious." Harry frowned.  
"It's important. And it pertains to the project."  
"Well, I don't want to speak with you about any of those things. If you'd like to convince me feel free." Louis crossed his arms.  
"I'm paying you for this." Harry spoke incredulously.  
"That's not in the job description." Louis bit back, voice taking on the stubbornness that Harry sensed and had learned of. "So you should play by my rules if you want me to dump my guts on your floor."  
Harry's jaw flexed and he looked away from him, exhaling in irritation. He believed in the objective of his project and saw Louis as a part of it, his tactlessness oblivious. He wanted human emotion, and even needed it connected and personal to his subject, but somehow still failed to see it as Louis' pain that he was asking for. Louis could see it all in his face and found it compelling.  
"That's arguable." Harry growled under his breath, but he knew after enough hours of painting that Harry had learned a few rules of behavior with Louis. One being that he didn't get to have his every way, though Louis thought he wouldn't mind giving a fair bit of it to him.  
Harry stood silently for a moment, and awkwardness reared it's head from seemingly no where, never really having a clear indication of how or when it will come. Louis didn't mind it. Harry's frown had become less aggressive and more inconvenienced.  
"How should I convince you? To tell me what ails you." Louis thought, realizing that he didn't know at first. It seemed simple, however, after a moment of silence.  
"Spend the day with me." He shrugged, "Play a game with me, show me your house and the things in it, or other art that you've made. Tell me about your classes or... yourself. I don't know, something. Make me feel like I'm telling Harry what hurts me. Instead of the artist, Harry." He had grown used to referring to him as _his painter_ in his head and to themselves. But, in the context of the serious room and awkward closeness that they'd never experienced together, the term was more endearing than he'd thought.  
"Okay." Harry said curtly. It was fair. He stood there for a few more empty moments of silence, Louis staring at him with his arms crossed.  
"Well, what do you want to do?" Louis raised his eyebrows. Harry gave him a steely look of discomfort.  
"I don't know... I didn't plan on... this." Louis rolled his eyes, uncrossing his arms.  
"God, surely you know how to socialize." He walked to his side, pointing to the living room before them. "Why don't you show me your house."  
Harry walked behind him, grumbling, "I _live_ with Zayn, I do know." Louis wandered through the living room, touching the bookshelves and furniture and things littered here and there, asking questions which Harry answered simply. He made his way to the adjoined room and pushed open the door, his shadow following.  
"Who's room is this?" He leaned inside.  
"Zayn." Louis stepped in and looked around, finding books and other things. A window at the end of the room was drawn with dark curtains. He turned around, finding Harry's form filling the doorway. He stepped aside, Louis sliding passed him and feeling aware for a moment of the closeness. He crossed the room to the other, pushing in to see what must be his.  
"Your room?" His eyes flicked around taking it all in. Harry leaned in the doorway.  
"Yes." The room was comfortable, Louis found, and open but safe. A desk was covered with books and papers, the floor dotted with clothes, the bed unmade. At the place where the bed met the wall, a window let the sunlight in to illuminate the room. Louis trailed his fingers over the bed, leaning to look at the window. The curtains were drawn and the view was nice.  
He turned around to come to Harry's side, enjoying the way his eyes followed him.  
"Well," He crossed his arms, "I hope you have food here because it looks like I'm going to be here for a while and I haven't eaten today."  
"You must be hungry." Harry frowned, still leaning to the frame of the door. Louis nodded, giving him an expectant look.  
Harry stepped away from him and into the living room, walking to the small kitchen.  
Louis leaned against the counter as Harry began opening cabinets and refrigerators.  
"You're cooking?" He hummed in surprise, holding a thoughtless smile. Harry set things on the counter and continuing.  
"Yes." He murmured.  
"I didn't think you'd have the patience for that sort of thing." Harry gave him an unimpressed glance, making Louis huff in laughter.  
"I spend hours staring at you and making minuscule markings on a canvas, isn't that patient?" Louis felt his chest tingle with interest as Harry spoke to him, watching him gather things and turn on the stove.  
"No." He chuckled, "You don't look very patient when you're doing that, either. I'd say that's control, and you hardly do that." He thought of Harry's displeased frowns when Louis didn't comply with his demands or social queues, the way he complained when forced to wait for anyone else.  
Harry hummed and didn't argue with him, beginning to cut vegetables and measuring oils, opening cans.  
"What are you making?" He hummed, watching his large hands moving around.  
"Soup." He glanced up, cutting chives.  
"Seems kind of a lot, I don't need anything much." He shrugged.  
"It's quick." He shook his head, "It's not too complicated."  
"Do you cook for Zayn most nights?" Harry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.  
"Usually I come home and sit down, too tired. We take turns and sometimes just eat separate."  
"Does he like when you cook?" Harry looked at him with slight confusion.  
"Yes, I suppose so. I know he prefers it."  
"What?" Louis tilted his head.  
"You ask weird questions."  
"Right, like 'what's your worst pain in life' isn't weird." Harry actually smiled, small and uneven, raising his brow.  
"That's fair." He hummed, voice surprisingly gentle. The sound of it made Louis feel his guard slip down and his ears listen in. "It has purpose at least."  
"There's purpose in asking you about how Zayn and you live together. If I want to know about you. You just don't see it because you don't like asking people about themselves." Harry frowned and his brow creased, an interesting reaction to something Louis knew he was right about. A small part of him pulled away and looked around for the smile he'd just seen. He shifted against the counter, finding himself eager to have him speaking again. "Do you really need me to tell you those things for your painting?" Harry was silent, hands busy for a moment.  
"I could do it without it, and probably satisfy myself. Which isn't something I take lightly. But it would be different from the result if I asked you... and I guess I want that result. Not sure why. But I don't really like questioning it." He mumbled, "Don't like to analyze it in the moment." Louis felt serious now, finding the intensity in him thick as he spoke.  
"What will it change if you know about that stuff?" Louis murmured. He saw the change in Harry's face, the stone like discomfort.  
"I really don't enjoy explaining things like that to people, so... It just does. It matters." He started putting things in the pot on the stove.  
"Okay." He hummed. He pulled himself up to sit on the counter, watching Harry. He watched him cook, quieted and made still by the sight of him. No one would see this person, in his kitchen, cooking calmly without the unpleasant disconnection from other people or the slow burn of passion in the studio. It was a person Louis was seeing, one most didn't, because he'd made it passed the exterior. It was beautiful. The sunlight streaming into the living room illuminated the kitchen as well, casting a soft lighting against his body. His hands were wide and pretty, bones and skin and veins. He was rather beautiful, Louis realized in this moment. He hadn't actively experienced it before now, quietly watching him cook from his counter top. He was, however. His shoulders broad and his back defined with shoulder blades that left little dips in his shirt. His legs were long and his arms muscled, one littered with black and white tattoos. His neck led beautifully into his jaw and his brow was straight, face angular. His hair in his bun, starting to loosen. Curls freed themselves from the rest, hanging down or hugging the nape of his neck. The hair pulled back becoming fuller with less restraint. As the pot steamed and released heated air into his area, he rubbed his arm against his forehead, eyes closing as he dried the moisture on his skin, brow creasing. It made Louis' heart react, something he didn't focus on. Harry pulled his hair tie out and readjusted his bun, arms held up as he tied his hair.  
The soup was good, warm and delicious with the oils. They sat on the couch, Harry answering between sips from the spoon as Louis asked questions about his life and about Zayn. How they'd met and what he did on a daily basis.  
They washed up in the kitchen.  
"Want a drink?" Harry asked.  
"Of what?"  
"I like wine." He pulled a bottle of it from the cabinet, red and dark. Louis accepted, pouring the cheep wine into the glass. He followed Harry into his bedroom, humming happily at the way the light had changed. The color had thickened, burning on the sill.  
He sat on the bed, Harry opening the window up so the cool evening air flowed over them. He sat with him, setting the wine on the sill and laying some cards on the bed for a game. Louis played with him, chatting as the sun began to lower. He succeeded in being the cause for a few bouts of Harry's laughter, beginning to beat him at the card game, sipping at the dark wine.  
"Dammit." Harry grumbled, playing another card, "You're quite clever."  
Louis laughed and dealt another winning blow, making Harry roll his eyes.  
A few hours later and the sun was setting, Harry having made a return trip to the kitchen for the rest of the bottle of wine. They sat on the sill, leaning against the frames of the wide window. Louis saw the light burning in Harry's curls, his hair down and against his shoulders. His eyes were hotly green in the sun, his skin smooth and lit up.  
"Favorite body part." Louis sipped his drink, watching Harry as he watched the city. "Of mine."  
"Of yours?" Harry frowned, brow creasing. He nodded, met with the quiet. Harry looked at him, avoiding his eyes and then looking away.  
"I don't really have one." He shrugged, making Louis roll his eyes playfully.  
"After all those hours staring at me, completely naked."  
"You?" Harry gave him a challenging look. Louis smirked.  
"You're quite fit, you know. I just don't want to tell you and make your head bigger."  
"That didn't answer the question." Louis sighed slowly, thinking.  
"Well, I quite like your collar and the sparrows, that area." He paused, "But I also like your arms and your face. There's a lot to like, I think." He hummed, quietly. Harry met his eyes for a moment, unreadable, but not unhappy. He looked away.  
"Well, I think you look pretty well, too." For some reason, Louis felt like that meant something complicated and artistic, intimate. He believed Harry meant it.  
"Okay, first opinions of each other, you first." Louis said, Harry raising his brows.  
"I didn't think much of you at first, just like everyone else. But your attitude was... challenging."  
"How?" Harry's mouth pulled at the side, making a face at the prospect of explaining himself.  
"You made me stick around because you treated me a little different than others, the others I disregard. And you're infuriating but you do it in a way I have a hard time responding to the way I respond to other smart asses. You're just strange, I suppose. It's hard to dismis you and when you're around I can't react the way I do instinctively. Always demanding without demanding and impossible to deny. Socially. I guess." He mumbled at the end, still looking discomforted with sharing his thoughts. "Well, what did you think of me, then."  
"I thought you were a right prick." Harry gave him an unamused look. "An impetuous, sophisticated ass who finds his own mental atmosphere a few thousand times more worthy of his attention than the people around him. He can't bare to pay attention to any one person with his entire focus for more than a few moments, too quickly disinterested. His only visible friend, a man who favors introversion and happens to be comfortable around you for reasons unknown, and someone able to disregard his disinterest in other humans. Should I go on? Or are you offended."  
"I'm strangely interested, not sure why... Sure."  
"I thought you expected everyone to act and react to you the same way, and when they got your attention, you didn't know how to respond to it. I thought you were a hot type of denying to others and not a cold. You look at everyone in the same way and prefer not to look at all. It seems." He paused, "I liked it. And I was interested in you, if I'm being very honest. I thought that.. you.. would be interesting to disrupt and impelling to watch in your natural environment as well. I suppose, that's what I thought." He was quiet for a while.  
"Not even a little intimidating?" Harry frowned.  
"Not at all intimidating." Louis grinned. The sun was gone behind the buildings when Zayn returned, leaning his head into the room and giving a puzzled look before leaving. The light was low and growing darker.  
"Do you like men or women?" Louis asked casually. Harry's expression flattened.  
"I thought I didn't like _people._ " Louis rolled his eyes, nodding for him to answer. "I don't know."  
"Then tell me why you don't know." Harry still frowned, even after a full night of being convinced to speak. Somehow in his quest to get him to tell him what he wanted to know, he'd been pulled into doing the same.  
"I don't feel anything sexually for women, I know that. But I like the female form for it's merits. I... I do find the male form sexual. But I wouldn't have sex, I don't think. So I guess I'm not really gay like you'd think. I wouldn't be able to tolerate anyone long enough. I'd just be annoyed with them while we fucked." Louis laughed, tipping his head back.  
"Are you a virgin?"  
"No," Harry shook his head, "I have had sex twice, but... it was just sex. It was alright. Not amazing. I don't know."  
"Hm." Louis hummed, leaning his head back against the wall.  
"What about you?" Harry asked after a moment. He seemed as if reluctant to return questions. As if he wanted to know but didn't want to ask.  
"I like men." Louis murmured, simply.  
"Oh." Quiet reigned as the sky darkened after the golden hour.  
"What did you think of my ass when you first saw it?" Louis asked.  
"I didn't look at it."  
Louis smirked, lifting his head, "Okay, what did you think of my ass when you first saw it." Harry pressed his palm against his brow, rubbing exasperated. He exhaled.  
"I don't know, it was an ass."  
"Alright, how about my body as a whole." He smiles, watching Harry avoid his gaze as he answered. That look of mild irritation ever present.  
"It was... It wasn't average. Good to look at for a long time." He was quiet, mumbling, "Inspiring."  
Louis felt humbled.  
"What's your family like?" Louis asked. Harry's eyes softened and conflicted quietly.  
"I have a mother and an older sister and a father." He shrugged, "They live far away, but I see them occasionally."  
"Do you get on with them?" Harry was quiet.  
"I do. They don't really understand me, my mum and dad. But I miss them strongly at times." His expression grew harder, "I'm not one for family values and dependence, though. I don't like living near family. I kind of wish I didn't love them so much. Not that it's that big of a deal. I know that's stupid." He shrugged.  
"Okay." Louis accepted, waiting a moment. "What's your favorite part about being alive." Louis asked, aware that his question was in juxtaposition with the one Harry had posed to bring them here tonight. Harry raised his brows and sighed.  
"I guess just... experiencing it. I don't know. My favorite part is probably art and... the things I see and feel and hear in the world. The little and big things."  
They were quiet for a long while, in the last rays of the light in the sky.  
"So, then, what makes you hurt?" Harry asked, watching him without cease now.  
"Well, I guess my pains aren't anything new." It didn't seem to deter Harry, "I guess.. I'm afraid of not being worth anything. I've been nearly homeless and poor most of my life. I'm poor right now. I'm... I wouldn't want to be worth nothing and no one caring about it. That's why Liam matters to me so much. He's always giving me a reason to work harder."  
Louis paused, feeling things taking a turn for personal, "I don't suppose I value myself very much. I mean... only if I think about it. I mean, I'm quite confident and.. I like my personality but overall I guess I don't have much purpose. I worry about not living, really."  
He was quiet for a moment, "I got kicked out of my house a week after I turned seventeen. My father, he found out I liked men. That moment was terrible because it was like my life had come to a stop. I had no idea where to go, I knew I'd just lost my mother and sisters, I had no ambition and no where to sleep that night. It was like all I had was my sexuality and it had just ruined me. I was uprooted completely, and thrown out, because of what I was. Liam helped me and when we were eighteen we got a place together. He's responsible so he balanced me out. Good lad." He smiled softly, "And I miss them. Not my dad, he wasn't really around much when I was young. But my mother and my sisters. I was close with my oldest sister, and really broodish with my younger ones. I loved my mum, a lot, so... I don't get to see her much anymore. I do value family, weather you think it's boring and predictable or unnecessary, or not." He shrugged. "So, I guess that's what I hurt about."  
Louis' voice was soft. He looked up to see Harry staring at him intensely, his own eyes widening. He was nearly glaring at him, stock still.  
"What?" Louis gave him a confused look.  
"Paint." Harry said shortly, standing up with stiff jerky movements. "I need to paint. Now. Come on." He took Louis' arm and pulled him towards the living room urgently. Louis was shocked. It was as if he had completely changed on a dime, forgetting that they'd even had the conversation.  
Harry dropped his wrist and strode into Zayn's room, his confused voice muffled through the wall. Louis approached, watching Harry rifle through Zayn's desk and things.  
"It's in my bag." Zayn was patient, although slightly less bewildered than Louis. Harry shoved his hand in Zayn's bag and pulled away a set of keys, swiftly leaving his room, Louis giving him a wide berth to do so. Harry pulled him toward the door and jogged down the steps, leaving the apartment onto the streets. Louis didn't speak as the cold night chilled his arms, neither of them had stopped to get their coats. Harry hadn't even closed the window. He followed behind his long legs, nearly jogging to keep up. They reached the building and Harry jogged up every step to the floor of the art shop, Louis panting to keep up with him, his heart thumping along with his steps in his chest.  
Harry shoved the keys in the door hastily and slung it open, the entire building silent and dark, the hallway empty. Harry shut the door behind them, moving passed the counter, through the pitch black store room with Louis struggling to keep behind him where he knew a safe path prevailed, and through the curtain to the studio. Harry fumbled around, flicking on a light.  
Louis stood with wide eyes and muscles stilled with surprise as Harry drew out supplies previous sessions, boxes scraping and materials making noise as he rifled through them, hardly bothering to set up as he normally did. He pulled a sheet off the canvas, threw it to the floor and turning to see him still standing where he'd left him. Louis in that moment, with his intent eyes on him, saw himself as an art supply. He realized that he was another tool in the making of this vision in Harry's sight and it was both discomforting and amazing to behold.  
Harry took his arm and, with both hands, moved him to the chair and pulled his shirt from him. Louis kicked his shoes off quickly, feet bare, as Harry's demanding hands swiftly stripped his pants of the belt. He wondered if this is how the paint felt. Like his body, with each touch, broke down a little, willing to be molded to whatever he asked for.  
Harry unbuttoned his pants fervently and pushed them away, Louis stepping out of them as Harry stripped his briefs. He turned away and started uncapping paint and mixed things with eyes that neared wild as Louis stood where he was, stunned and bare. Under his feet, where normally the sheet resided alone, his clothes lay in clumps.  
He slowly sat down, watching more closely than ever before. He stared as Harry started painting, eyes moving from him to the canvas over and over again, feverishly. His hands weren't calculated and slow like they could be, every moment seemed to have purpose and a predestined idea, leaving no room for pauses. The tightness in his muscles betraying that to stop now would be madness.  
Louis was softly rapt, unable to look away. He watched as the hour stretched on, the look never leaving Harry. His curls hung around his neck and a bit of his hair falling into his eyes. His hands getting smudged with paint.  
That night Louis didn't look at the canvas when Harry finally stopped. He didn't know why, but he didn't want to see the result, only the painter. When he had finished, Harry had slowed with starts and stops. His hand lifting and dropping. His eyes, previously moving constantly, now stared at one or the other for long stretches. They landed on the paint or his body, seeing a color he had never seen in Louis before.  
Harry was silent when he finally stood up and stared at the painting for a few more moments, the fire leaving his eyes and simmering to a few coals. He blinked once or twice and went to Louis, kneeling at his feet to pick up his clothing, handing him his underwear and laying the rest on the chair as he slowly pulled them on.  
Harry put up his supplies with a nearly lethargic effect. Louis was fully clothed and waiting for him when he was ready, taking the lead as they left the shop. Harry pulled the keys from his pocket and gave them to Louis, him locking the door again and walking slowly with him out.  
He didn't speak until they parted outside the building, a quiet goodbye and a touch on his arm from Louis. Louis let him leave with a quiet worry, as if in the back of his mind needing to walk him home to make sure he got there.


	4. Chapter 4

Louis opened the closed door of the shop with Liam behind him. He had the day off and his curiosity had pushed him to accompany him to the studio. The day was average, the air slightly chilled, the sun out.  
The shop was closed today, the only day of the week that it was. Left unlocked, Louis was able to pass through the front and to the studio.  
"Wow." Liam commented, looking around at the stock room. Louis slipped through the ratty, green curtain over the doorway and held it open for Liam to duck his head through. Zayn sat on a stool, body fidgeting mindlessly, next to Harry's wide canvas. Harry had the canvas covered, flipping through a book as he spoke to Zayn. Zayn held his own book, the one he'd been reading before.  
"Hey." Zayn lifted his head, greeting Louis and looking at the new comer.  
"Hey." Louis patted Liam's arm, "This is Liam. He's my housemate." Zayn's eyes roamed around him, languid and dark as they normally were.  
"Hey." Liam gave a warm smile, waving.  
"Hi." Zayn hummed. "I'm Zayn."  
"That's Harry." Louis gestured. Harry lifted his head, taking notice of Louis first and looking at Liam.  
"You read Fitzgerald?" Liam pointed to Zayn's book.  
"Do you?" Zayn asked, lifting his book a bit.  
"Yeah, I do." Liam smiled. Zayn stood, and asked him what his favorite book from him was and went to the couch to sit with him. Louis smiled in surprise, watching as Liam chatted with him for a moment. He returned his gaze to Harry, surprised to see him still looking at Liam. He had seen some of Zayn's friends come and go in the studio before and Harry paid them no attention. Louis found it encouraging that he was actually looking at Louis' friend. He stared for a few moments before lowering his eyes back to his book, flipping the pages in search once more. Louis took Zayn's former chair and pulled it closer to Harry's area, sitting and crossing his legs. He could lean back in this one, his mind noting the difference between this chair and his own stool in front of Harry's easel which he had come to see as his own. His mind seemed to thoughtlessly compare every chair in this room with the one he sat on for those hours naked.  
He listened to Liam and Zayn speaking with each other quietly on the couch as he watched Harry flip the pages and pause in his book. He looked tired today, his eyes dark and perhaps more sedated than usual. Louis wondered what had caused it. He didn't look upset, or not any more serious than he normally looked. Louis watched him, his tongue sliding over his lips, his teeth nibble at them occasionally as he thought. His hair was down, most of it pushed over to one side, hanging forward.  
Harry paused on one page and read for a while, Louis lifting his gaze to watch Liam and Zayn talk quietly while breaking into laughter occasionally.  
Harry closed the book and stood from his chair, drawing Louis' attention. He set the book on the table and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at Louis for a moment, eyes shifting over his body. Louis found it fascinating, not sure if he was sizing up his model for the day of painting ahead or if he was observing him after the day apart, as if to greet him with his eyes. Probably both.  
"You guys need to leave." Harry spoke to the two on the couch, making Louis' expression shift with amusement, not surprised.  
"Why?" Liam frowned, looking at Louis.  
"I'm getting naked." He smirked. It was an easy excuse, and he used it to ease the atmosphere of the room for his loyal friend. He knew, however, that Harry wouldn't do any painting until everyone was gone.  
Liam laughed, "You didn't tell me about that." Louis shrugged, feeling a little tired himself today. The relaxing atmosphere of the studio didn't help jar him awake. It wasn't relaxing in a sleepy sense, but when he was here he normally felt present and calm.  
Liam stood and Zayn followed him, walking to the door with him.  
"See you tonight, Louis." Liam called over his shoulder, Louis waving goodbye as Zayn walked out with him. Harry waited until he heard the door shutting through the shop before moving to set things up.  
Louis knew it would take a few minutes and decided to watch him for a few moments, kicking off his shoes at the foot of his chair. He yawned and Harry glanced at him, his gaze as usual meeting his face and then quickly moving down his body and way.  
"You're tired today." Louis commented, tipping his head to the side a bit.  
"Yes."  
"Do you think that will change the way you paint?" He hummed. Harry looked at him with a dangerous, wary expression.  
"God, don't jinx it." Louis smiled and giggled.  
"Don't you trust yourself?" Harry raised a brow.  
"As much as I can. Which is to say completely, more than anyone else and not at all."  
"Hm." Louis hummed quietly, standing and stripping. Harry's calm, steady, focused mood made Louis want to sit without talking for a while. Made him want to provide something useful for him. To relax for the next hour and watch him work. So he slipped his clothes off and padded to his chair, muscles and curves relaxed as he swung his hips with his steps. He turned and slid onto the seat, shifting and lifting his gaze to notice Harry staring at him. He may have imagined him widening his eyes a bit before looking away.  
Harry worked calmly and the hour passed comfortably. Louis watched him, the way his brow creased and nibbled on his lower lip when he tried mixing paints.  
When Louis returned home later that night, Liam told him that he'd gotten lunch with Zayn and explained how strange it felt to get along so quickly with a new person.


	5. Chapter 5

The day was quiet and the sun was bright today, but inside the studio nothing existed except for Harry's eyes on him. He was so used to the touch of the air on his naked skin, the way his body existed in the universe and in conjunction with another person.  
Harry painted him. Like he did every time they were here. Louis wondered briefly what he was seeing. He watched his painter back, feeling his soul stilling in his body. He wondered if Harry's heart was settled, unsure when kept at such a distance. Harry's brow was creased today while he painted, something that was common but not constant. It meant something, though Louis couldn't explain it. He watched Harry pausing and staring at him, moving back to the canvas and leaning close to it before glancing hurriedly back at Louis as if he was disappearing and he had to see quickly.  
Louis stretched, clasping his hands together and reaching up, eyes squeezing shut as he moved his muscles in his seat. He sighed, opening his eyes and lowering his arms, rolling his shoulders. Harry was watching him with his mouth open, looking slightly shocked for a few moments. Louis smiled at him softly, wondering why his heart softened in his chest. 

-

It had been nearly two weeks since Harry had started on the huge canvas.  
Harry hadn't invited him to spend anymore time with him since the night he'd asked for his pain and then painted with a fever. Louis knew, however, that he wanted to be around him, weather he wanted to want that or not. Harry spent more time not painting and sitting with him when Louis arrived for his sessions. He even spoke with him, these days. Afterwards, one late night, Louis had pulled on his briefs and Harry sat on the couch. Louis followed him and talked with him until Harry began to tire, blinking sleepily on the sofa.  
Louis didn't question why he didn't ask to be with him outside of the studio, but he assumed it had to do with the painting. Harry was strange in that way. He had seemed reluctant to speak with him personally at all, only doing so when he had convinced himself it was worth a relevant result to his project. Louis watched as Harry constantly strained in between fascinated willingness to know Louis, and artistic adamance to the idea, bordering on superstitious.  
Yesterday, Louis had gotten naked and stolen Harry's wallet, going through it to provoke him. Harry had sternly frowned at him, demanding him to return it. Louis couldn't stop laughing as he pranced in the nude, knowing Harry wouldn't dare reach for him naked as he was. He opened the wallet and made comments on the contents. His heart had seized in his chest and he'd sucked a surprised breath when Harry had darted to him, grabbing him around the waist and taking his wrist in his hand tightly. Louis froze, eyes wide as Harry gripped him. He was strong and Louis had only had one experience with his touch before. He knew that his strength was useless, it was the way his hands made Louis feel like listening that made the difference.  
"I'll have that." Harry plucked his wallet from him, releasing him and stepping away. "You're a childish menace." He grumbled. Louis returned quietly to his chair, perching and looking anywhere but his painter. He'd thought briefly, for a moment, that he was very, very, naked. It made him uncomfortable and he wished it away, thankful that the discomfort faded soon after Harry stood at his canvas. 

-

Harry was doing more staring at him than he was painting. Louis watched him, not caring to interrupt him from his naked seat. Harry looked at the canvas and gripped the chair he sat in, looking conflicted. He'd been staring at him, a tempest of eyes, watching him as if Louis couldn't tell that he was being stared at. Harry stood from his chair, crossing his arms and looking from the painting to Louis, the crease in his brow was strong today.  
Louis nearly asked if he was alright, but didn't, eyes following him as Harry grew more and more estranged. He stepped away from the painting, something he hadn't done before during a session. The only time before had been to retrieve and mix some paint he'd run out of. This was certainly different.  
Harry paced away from the painting like a disturbed wolf, shoulders tense and eyes shifty. Eventually he moved to a point in the room where he couldn't see his painting, not facing Louis but halfway between the two of them.  
"Harry?" Louis hummed gently. Harry jumped, arms tightening across his chest.  
"I don't like talking to the people I paint." He growled, his hand fisting and fingers dragging at his shirt. He refused to look at Louis, staring at the back of the canvas. Louis' brow creased, frowning. He would have rolled his eyes at the scathing comment, but couldn't make himself when Harry acted so strangely. He felt apprehensive as he paused, letting Harry bring his knuckle to his mouth and bite the skin there.  
"I didn't want to talk to you at all." He muttered under his breath, not even speaking to him. "But I already did." He seemed to be listing facts to himself, or reasoning. He whispered under his breath, "There's still time to fuck this up." Louis watched with wide eyes, feeling unsteady and unsure of Harry. He hardly voiced his thoughts ever, much less talking to himself. He held the likeness of a superstitious elder.  
Harry turned and faced Louis, body tense and coiled, making Louis tense and inhale. Harry stared at him, hand near his mouth and eyes wide. His eyes shifted from mindless thought to pensive and scouring evaluation, moving back and forth as he looked at him. He paced in front of him a few steps and paused.  
"Harry, are you alright?" Louis spoke quietly, noticing the way his voice jarred him. Harry tensed and suddenly stepped in front of him. He stood within inches of him, staring down at him with intensity. Louis' heart thumped in his chest as Harry leaned down and gripped the sides of his chair. The sides of his hands brushed the skin of his thighs, making Louis suck in a breath and lean back. The muscle in Harry's jaw clenched as he stared at him, green eyes stunningly close. Louis could feel his warmth and smell the scent of his clothes. His eyes wide he leaned back, face inches from his.  
"Fuck." Harry whispered, eyes fiery and making Louis' heart kick. He was quiet for a few tense, unsure and suspended moments. "I know this isn't necessary... But I feel like it's important. It feels important." He muttered, hardly speaking to Louis, staring at his chest. Louis could feel his trembling respiration feathering against his skin.  
Louis felt for a moment like his body was frozen in every inch of muscle to his place, while inside his soul was flattening against the front of his body like magnet blocked from it's counterpart. Or, more accurately, gravity.  
One of Harry's hands raised to touch the side of his face. The hand was warm and steady, fitting against his neck and jaw perfectly, stilling him. He breathed evenly, eyes calming and watching Harry calm.  
They grew still for a moment.  
Harry leaned slowly into him, eyes closing half way as Louis' followed his lips, breathing shallow. Harry was still for a moment that ached and trembled until Louis nodded his head slowly. His chin tilted down once slowly and again.  
Harry leaned forward and kissed him. Louis felt their bodies freeze for a moment and then tension released from their bones. His mouth softened against Harry's. He exhaled slowly and all of the air in his lungs flowed away with the tension. He moved his mouth again, eyes fluttering closed as Harry kissed him back. His lips tasted some way as the tip of his tongue brushed against them. The tension in his spine loosened and he lifted a hand to the hand Harry had against his chair, brushing his thigh. His fingers brushed the inside of his wrist and he tilted his chin up as Harry raised up, leaning over him. Louis kept him close, raising his other hand to pull his shoulder and keep his chest close. Harry kissed him slowly and deeply.  
Louis felt his heart become still and he sighed mindlessly as Harry pulled his head away.  
It was a strange form of importance. One Louis had never felt before. It would make more sense if Harry gave him a logical reason to feel something as illogical as needing another person. However it was that regardless of what he did, or even in result of, Louis felt like he needed this. Perhaps this is how birds and butterflies migrate without knowing where they're going. Just acting on what his soul says feels right. And being in the same room with him feels right.  
"Is that okay?" Louis murmured after a moment of silence as his thoughts arranged.  
"I think it is." Harry whispered. Louis felt the hand on the chair move so that it pressed closer to the side of his thigh. Louis felt a fear that it wasn't okay. He realized that Harry was afraid to kiss him because he was painting him. He felt an anxiety in his chest for one fleeting moment, afraid he'd broken something that Harry would never forgive him for. That if he broke the project Harry was creating, that he would never accept him again. But his fear faded quickly as he felt Harry's thumb move against his cheek. If Harry said it was alright, than it was.  
"I want to do that again." Harry mumbled, his voice quiet and for the first time questioning and humble. Louis' heart pulled in his chest, trembling. Harry open and afraid to extend, Louis wanted to reach and relieve him of all doubt. He stood, slowly and gradually as Harry backed away and stayed close. Louis reached down and pulled on his underwear, taking Harry's hand and pulling him onto the couch.  
The seat was soft and warm and dark, and he sat next to Harry and felt his hands holding onto his body as he kissed him. He held back, discovering the warmth and steadiness of his chest and shoulders and arms. Harry kissed him as if he were exploring him, hands fighting between exploring the bare expanses of his body and holding softly to his face as he tasted his mouth.  
As Louis felt the strength of Harry's arms around his back and cradling him, he felt mesmerized. He'd never been held in this way. He'd never even known this was a way to be held. As he was something more than a person, something more than a concept. Like he was an art and he could feel it's relevance in the spread of Harry's hands. There was no describing the way a physical touch made Harry's identity imprint into the shivering skin on Louis' body.  
Louis knew that in the morning, when the sun rose or the wind changed, that Harry could too. That he may change his mind or feelings fade or circumstances eradicate this moment within a second. But something in his chest recognized that with Harry's breath in his mouth and his fingertips against his bones, he would not be able to forget this.  
Somethings, when crossing a line of certainty, become permanently yours weather they stay or go. This warmth in his chest for the man he kissed was permanently his.  
A thought both infinitely relieving and terrifying.  
"What are you thinking?" Louis whispered, breathing in Harry's breath.  
"I'm worrying that it's wrong that I'm doing this and not painting." He whispered back and Louis saw him glance at the canvas.  
"I'll be here for as long as you need me to be." Louis whispered, his hand touching him softly. Harry looked at him and Louis' anxiety faded with his, feeling alright when his lips returned.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while listening to Pillowtalk. _please feel free to comment, all the love xx_

Harry seemed constantly hesitated, seeming to think twice about every touch he let on Louis' body. Louis didn't chase him, just waiting in the center for Harry to pause his circling and approach him. He was patient and every interaction with him seemed worth it and important. 

-

Louis followed Harry into his flat, into his room as Harry locked his bedroom door. Louis liked being behind locked doors with him, in this room that felt comfortable and safe.  
Harry turned to his model and reached for him, hands touching his ribs and fingers grazing over his shirt.  
"Do you want inspiration?" Louis hummed, breathing quietly and shamelessly hoping to be touched by him. Harry's eyes looked over his body, where his shirt clung to his shoulders and all of the proud, soft lines that defined Louis' personality in his face and jaw and body.  
"If there is inspiration, I will grasp it." Harry mumbled, his hands becoming hard as they pulled his shirt off of him.  
Louis breathed shallowly, his naked chest fluttering with the curl and whip of anticipation. Flashes of paws and horses flashed in Louis' stomach, excitement taking form like the raw shred of muscle in a stampede of bulls. He felt like an ocean and Harry was a storm, rising him and falling him in swells as he played at his edges. Louis wanted him to dive.  
Harry's hands crashed against his waist with the grace of a falling dancer, his fingers digging into his waist. Louis took a step back as Harry pushed him, buckling the back of his knees against the edge of the bed. Louis lay back as Harry's hands weighed down on his chest, pinning him like a lead weight to the sheets. Louis' breath felt disowned from his body, a creature of it's own, flying to and from his body against his control. He sucked in, lifting his head to watch as Harry unbuckled his belt and drug his jeans from his legs.  
Louis' thoughts flashed to his hands, wide and worldly. He saw the way Harry couldn't control them in average circumstances, knocking over coffee cups and dropping things he was holding. He didn't blink when he fumbled, a normal circumstance, a clumsiness that existed in normality.  
Those hands were faulty until they painted. An oxymoron if Louis' ever seen one. Harry's hands became separate beings when they painted, striking universes onto canvases as he controlled them like a breathing machine. Then he was dropping bottles of paints when setting up and returning to clumsiness.  
Right now, however, his hands were sure. Louis didn't know if he was pleased or afraid of the fact that Harry's hands showed the same control and wild sureness on his body that they did only when he painted.  
Louis was left in his black underwear and eyes wide as he watched Harry unbutton his shirt, fingers faltering on a few buttons. He watched with his breath stuck in his throat, or staying their just to spite him. Or staying in his lungs to watch with him, equally as stunned as Harry's shirt fell off his strong shoulders and relieved a smooth chest painted with sparrows and moths and strings of plants rising from the ridge of his jeans.  
Louis watched him, probably looking more like a deer in the headlights than he had ever suffered to look like in any other sexual situation. He was a leader. He liked to ride his men. If they could see him now, rendered motionless, a different man.  
Harry's hair was still up in a bun that looked somehow wild, curls coming loose as the tie fell out.  
He unbuckled his belt, letting his jeans slide down as he stepped out of them and kicked them to the side. He didn't seem to be thinking about the fact that he had a viewer, realising now that Louis was staring at him intensely. Louis had been naked and active for days in front of him but he, himself, was seeing more of Harry's skin than he'd seen in his life.  
Harry stood in between his spread legs at the edge of the bed, eyes raking over his body. Louis realized for the first time the vast difference between sex in Harry's eyes and art in them. He could still see the platonic, beautiful appreciation, but now it was contrasted with a heat of sex he'd never seen. He was struck by the amount of control Harry had over himself, keeping everything under control, including the way he appreciated his body, until he decided.  
"Take those off for me." Harry rasped, voice deep and vibrant. Louis was still for a stupor second, hands reaching to his briefs and shimmying them off of his hips. Harry watched him and Louis had never felt so cripplingly, searingly, electrifyingly naked in his life. He'd certainly never felt this naked in front of Harry, but more so had never been as effected by nudity as he was now. He got his briefs to his thighs, lifting his knees and pulling them off his ankles and throwing them off the bed. Harry's hand flicked to the side, gesturing at his knees to return to their place bracketing his. Louis lowered them, laying so stomach turning naked.  
The room was warmly lit by the artificial light of the lamp, the curtains open to the night of the city.  
Harry lowered his hands and Louis watched the muscles in his body roll as he leaned down, sliding under his skin. His broad hands landed on the warm skin of his stomach with a sensitive jump under the touch of his fingers. Harry lay his palms flat against his skin, fingers shifting as he slid his hands up and felt his ribs expanding and collapsing under his fingers.  
Harry slid an arm under his back and crawled onto the bed, dragging Louis up to lay against the pillows. The lights of the city slid over his skin, mixing with the lamp.  
Harry started kissing him, Louis' mind going blank and lost in the feel of it. He couldn't think of anything other than his mouth on his, his hands making his skin pull and rock under his flat, unashamed hands. Louis exhaled against his mouth, hands clawing and pulling over his back and shoulders as his tongue met with his. Louis' body ached to be against his, laying with too much space between their chests and stomachs. His hands raked over Harry's chest and front, fingers nearly shaking with pleasure as he felt the thrill of Harry's ribs and stomach twitching under his hands for the first time. His tongue went soft and obedient as Harry slid in his mouth.  
Harry pulled away for a moment, breath against his face as hands roamed.  
"Closer." Louis muttered, voice soft and high, irritably demanding. Harry reacted to his voice, hands gripping tighter and eyes flashing with interest.  
Harry rolled off of him and onto his back, leaving Louis panting and flushed against the bed. He caught on, scrambling onto his knees and straddling Harry's hips. He sat down onto him and his hands landed against Harry's body like a match against the friction of the book. A landing strip of fire as the stick shredded and dredged a path of sparks and destructiveness across the strip, coming away on fire and alive.  
Louis crashed his mouth against Harry's, sitting against his hips and rolling, muscles threatening to rip from his bones in excitement as he felt those strong, commanding hands grasping at his body. Louis felt the inside of his thighs sliding across the ridges of the hips under him.  
Harry's tongue kept control in their mouths even as Louis rolled his body on top of him, wishing he was pressed flat against him.  
He wanted to feel his chest and his breath against his body.  
Louis rolled his hips down harder, feeling Harry's hardness against his. He felt Harry's hips shift under his in reaction. His hands pushed at Louis' body, making him frown and pull away, brow creased as he shuffled off of him.  
Harry reached for his underwear, pulling at the hem.  
"Wait," Louis blurted, "I want to. Can I?" Louis watched and for the first moment since their tongues had met, they met each other's gaze for a moment of stillness. Louis saw Harry's denial for a brief second, the hesitancy and then the inexplicable, simple mesmerized interest.  
Harry pulled his hands away, muscled arms bending in the pillows. Louis looked at the tattoos there for a second, knowing that if he got the chance to sit on him and ride he may not have the attention span to admire them.  
His hands felt soft and small, but of equal magnitude as they dipped into the hem the fabric. He pulled them from Harry, looking at his eyes to see no change. Louis' lips twitched in a smile at how long his legs were when he had to pull them all the way down off his feet.  
Louis crawled against his side, laying down on his stomach, half on his body and half off. He didn't want to go to far too fast for him.  
Harry tilted his head and met Louis' kiss as he lay on his back, Louis' body pressing against his side. Louis' legs pressed against his, his cock warm against his hip and his chest and stomach against his skin. Louis leaned his arm against his chest as they kissed, Harry's breath flowing into his lungs as he tasted his tongue. Harry's arms came down from the pillows around his head, one curling around his back and one hand sliding through his hair.  
Louis' hips were rolling against the side of his body against his will. He was extremely reactive to Harry's body and touch, following unfaltering when Harry's hand reached down to pull at his thigh. He arms guided Louis, arm pushing at his back and hand pulling his leg across his body. Louis straddled his body, sitting up on him.  
Harry reached down and his hands slowed as they touched his thighs and waist, hands dragging down and slowing to some controlled and timeless grip as he squeezed around Louis' cock. He hadn't expected it, breath turning into fire in his lungs, muscles jerking as he choked a murmur from his lips.  
Harry's hand was as a huge palm that he lay inside of, waiting for instruction, body waiting for molding. Right now, Louis panted, mouth open as Harry touched him slowly and experimentally.  
It was so different for him. He wasn't used to being so immobile and attentive, awaiting for Harry's hands. He wasn't used to listening for the next step. Surely he'd get the hang of it, later. For now, however, he was at his mercy.  
Harry reached under him, sliding his wrist between their bodies and reaching to Louis' bum. His eyes got heady, brow creasing as the blue of his eyes turned to milk and honey and cobalt, tumultuous ocean. Harry slid a slightly wet finger in, letting it sink with a drag into him. Louis sat against his hand, hands gripping his body like an anchor and eyes blinking so slow. He didn't make sounds yet, coming close as his breathes whined into whimpers. Harry fit another too wide finger in beside the other, Louis' body turning to motionless obedience on top of him. He sat without the ability of movement as Harry's fingers pumped up and out of him. At the third, Louis was slightly afraid and wary. He'd never felt so out of control of himself before, feeling at the mercy of Harry's sex as he hummed in pleasure.  
Harry pulled his fingers out, Louis' attention returning unpleasantly to the wide hands gripping his hips and lifting him up. Louis shuffled so that he was leaning forward, holding his bum off him, lowering his eyes to look at the length he wanted to feel. Harry seemed to pause, not unsure, but not moving. Louis didn't think much, reaching down and taking his cock in his hand and fussily nudging his hips down against it. His hand was soft and small around his width, Harry's own hands becoming hard and clenching in response.  
Harry let him guide his head to him, letting him sit up and twist his head around, body shuffling as he sat back and leaned slowly against him. He slide in with Louis' eyes squeezing shut as he sat back inch by inch until he was full.  
Harry's mouth was open, his brow creased. They stilled as Louis breathed deep, hands clung to his ribs for stability. Louis hand't been this full in a while, feeling like he couldn't make himself move. Harry's fingers had been helpful and he had wanted it so bad his body had loosened for him.  
Harry looked as affected as he, eyes lost and stomach tight with muscle as he breathed heavily. He eventually gripped his hips and held him as he pulled back and inched back inside, making Louis' mouth open and his eyes slide half shut.  
Harry did it again, sliding more out and in this time, hands gripping his hips. Louis' brow creased and as Harry sunk in slow and deep he hummed a moan that made Harry's fingernails sink into his skin. Louis' expression could have brought Harry to his knees on a good day, the breathy moans making it impossible for him to stop moving his hips, wanting to be deeper, deeper, deeper.  
Harry's hips started moving steadily, fucking him with a drag that turned Louis' body into a softness of uselessness. Harry's eyes watched Louis turn to a malleable beauty on his length, gorgeous body moving with his hips.  
Louis' lips shone with slick, his voice becoming resonate as he moaned. His hands lay open on Harry's chest, palms open and sensitive as he felt his heart beat under his hand, his cock driving into him and breaking his bones into a melt.  
Harry removed one hand and pulled the tie from his hair, letting the curls free against the pillow. Louis' doubts had been wrong, he was able to admire his tattoos from here. Even through listless, blown eyes.  
"Harry." He whined, voice soft and soulful. Harry reached with one hand to the back of Louis' neck, gripping his hair and fucking harder. Louis' mouth fell open and his eyes opened, letting out a sound that hitched with the thrusts. He let his head lay in Harry's hold however he liked, Harry's fingers wrapping around the back of his neck and digging into the soft sides of his throat.  
Somehow Harry had known how to make Louis stable with his hand, and it worked. He needed it as Harry fucked him, holding him steady.  
Louis' expression changed and Harry took notice, watching him reach with his hands up in request. He pulled gently against Harry's hold. He released and Louis lay against his chest, getting what he wanted. He moaned high and long, burying his face in the pillow, his nose nestled into curls of his hair. Harry's brunette waves stuck to his face and mouth as he lifted his head and closed his mouth, mumbling as he wrapped his arms around his body.  
Louis must have slurred the word _coming_ as Harry gripped him against his body. Harry reached down and wrapped one hand around Louis, squeezing and letting him come in his hand between their flush stomachs.  
Louis must have lost it, body limp on him, nothing but twitching adoring fingers as Harry pressed his face against Louis' hair and grit his teeth, coming inside.  
Bodies lay flush together, breathing and burning as heartbeats ran like racing horses who didn't know the race was over; mindless and lost in the third space that took reality away and made it so real it was impossible.  
Harry pulled out of him eventually, muscles seeming to deny even the least of effort.  
Louis lay half awake with his mouth tasting of Harry's tongue and his body against his, limbs tangled as they lay there.  
In the morning, the sun burned through the windows, the cool air kept outside. The light had Louis' skin hot and sweating, his eyes blinking open in some third world that existed in this morning. He stretched his lungs, breathing deep and exhaling through his nose, eyes blinded by the light. He blinked and covered his eyes.  
He sat up, moving out of the hot sun, the sheets sticking to his back. Harry wasn't in the bed, his clothes from the night before still laying on the floor, his wallet gone from the dresser.


	7. Chapter 7

"Why did you leave yesterday?" Louis asked, voice confused and demanding, arms crossed. Harry crossed his arms as well, looking uncomfortable.  
Inside the studio, the painting still covered and Louis covered, too.  
Zayn had told him when Louis padded out into the kitchen that morning, feeling a little too full and a little too hollow, that he shouldn't jump to conclusions about Harry's absence. _He's sensitive about weird things, it could mean anything. It might not be anything at all, maybe he just had class._ Zayn had explained, drinking a glass of eleven a.m. wine with Louis. It was hard not to feel a little empty and searching innocently inside for him when he had felt so full and secure the night before.  
Harry met his eyes, looking discomforted in doing so, but too brave not to.  
"I was worried about messing up the painting if I stuck around in the morning. I had class anyway." He shrugged, the movement forcing images of his bare shoulders into Louis' mind, laying in the bed.  
"Alright." Louis muttered, accepting his answer weather he understood it or not.  
"We don't have a session today." Harry broke the lulling quiet.  
"Well, I'm here." Louis stared at him. "And I know you're trying to avoid me and you probably won't stop until you paint me again, so I'd really appreciate it if we moved it to now."  
Harry glared at him and he knew he was right.  
"I'll paint whenever I feel like it, I hope you're aware of that." His voice was low and made Louis have to focus on denying it. He gave him a steely look and threw his coat off, dropping it on the floor and making a trail with his clothing as he stripped piece by piece to his chair. He perched onto it naked, crossing his arms and waiting.  
He realized a moment too late that Harry may still deny him and, that if he did, it would make this all worse than it would have been if he'd left it alone. He worried for a moment, eager to be accepted, feeling abrasive and unsure of his demands. He knew he was bitter of being left alone in the morning, something he shouldn't have been bitter about. He knew that it didn't feel entirely right having an influence on Harry's art, in this way. But he was afraid that if he didn't do something, Harry wouldn't paint him because they'd had sex. And he wouldn't see him because when he did, all he would be seeing was artistic stagnation. Something he was sure Harry viewed as blackly as having a hand cut off.  
He sat there vulnerable for a few screaming silences before Harry stood and walked doubtfully towards him, stopping between him and the canvas. He looked Louis' body over, a worried look in his eyes. He inhaled and exhaled shakily, waiting as he stared a few moments. His expression became steely and he pulled the sheet from the canvas, retrieving his paints.  
He painted for two and a half hours, leaving Louis' body aching when he finally stopped. Harry stood and distanced him from the canvas before putting up, looking at him.  
"Did that work?" Louis asked, voice humble and quiet, worried about the answer. Harry's eyes weren't unsteady anymore, calm.  
"Yeah, it did." Harry nodded, "I don't know how it's changed but it's still flowing fine. Maybe more."  
Louis sighed, taking what he'd get. When he stood and dressed, Harry pulled him away from the studio and stopping him inside the dark stockroom. His fingers lingered on Louis' coat, eyes calm, stormy and looking over him. Louis wanted to reach up and let his fingers slip through his curls, but wouldn't.  
Harry leaned down and kissed his lips with feather light gentleness, testing. He did once more, pressing more fully and sighing when he pulled away. Louis walked out with him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while listening to As Much As I Ever Could by City and Colour. _Comment if you'd like, I like to hear from you. :)_

Dying sunlight fell through the windows and left mazes of shadows on the ridges of the sheets and blankets as the daylight faded.  
Louis lay in the quiet nest of softness, fingers tracing lightly and slowly over the tattoos and bare skin of Harry's chest. He hummed under his breath quietly as Harry inhaled deeply and sighed, blinking his eyes at him.  
Evening was moving passed them outside, but it had no effect on the two as their hearts thumped slowly and softly in their warm, loose bodies. They had been in Harry's bedroom for much longer than perhaps they should have been. Harry had skipped class, and had the day off of work. Louis had been in his bed with him for a day, chatting and sleeping with him and napping. He listened to his heart beat and his breathing, listened to his deep voice, warm as he spoke to him. He listened as Zayn came and went, through the locked door of Harry's bedroom. Harry's bed was a safe place, a world that nothing existed outside of. For a little more than a day, in this bed, all Louis had was Harry's voice and his sex and his warm acceptance. Harry. He didn't know that he was ready to leave yet.  
Once, Louis pulled on one of Harry's shirts and padded into the kitchen to fetch some water and eagerly return to him, only to be interrupted by Zayn coming through the front door. He had blinked in surprise, Louis pulling the shirt passed his dick and smiling widely, greeting him. Zayn raised his brows and asked him, _you've crawled out of your sex den, have you?_ He had returned to his boy eagerly, locking the door to his room and falling back into the bed.  
Now, the sun was burning warmly on their skin, the day losing light. It didn't matter, he and Harry wouldn't abide by the sun, would find time to kiss each other into the light of the morning, in and out of sleep.  
Harry leaned forward and kissed his lips once, softly. Louis smiled and touched his lips with the tips of his fingers, admiring the way the light lay over Harry's skin.  
"Good morning, darling." He hummed, letting his fingers trace Harry's clavicle. "Have a nice sleep?"  
"It's nearly night." Harry's voice rolled warm and deep in his chest. "And I did, thanks."  
"You spoke in your sleep." Louis whispered, hoping the warmth in his eyes wasn't too obvious. He was well aware of how quickly the light of love was infiltrating his affections for him.  
"I did?" He gave a surprised look, "About what?"  
"Nothing in particular," Louis lowered his eyes, rolling his hands over the expanse of Harry's ribs and stomach, following the lines of the butterfly. "Just mumbled and grumbling." Louis lowered his voice to a low growl and imitated him, making Harry roll his eyes and he giggled. They were quiet for a while, he lay his head on Harry's arm and watched the sunlight shift on his body.  
"I have work in the morning." Harry spoke, voice vibrating through his chest.  
"I don't want to leave this bed." Louis mumbled, lifting his head.  
"Then stay in it, I don't mind." Harry murmured, smirking sleepily. Louis grumbled unappreciative. A few minutes passed and Harry rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand and touching Louis' arm. His brow was creased as it was when he was serious, Louis laying on his back and sighing fondly.  
"Are you going to paint again, soon?" He rasped.  
"Yes." Harry murmured, "I'd like to be painting now, but you're here... like this." His eyes roamed over Louis' soft body, relaxed in the blankets, chest rising and falling slowly. "It's hard to leave."  
"I know." Louis whispered. He watched his eyes flicker with displeasure. "What's wrong with that?"  
"I don't like things keeping me from painting." His warm, green, endless eyes roamed over Louis body and made a lump in his throat. He was so beautiful and the urge to crash into him and to wrap them together and feel his body came and went in unexpected intervals. "I get kind of superstitious about it. Like I shouldn't trust anything if it's keeping me from painting."  
Louis frowned but listened, always interested in his words.  
"But you do both. You make me want to paint and be with you." He whispered, being quiet. "It's... hard."  
Louis lifted a hand and let his fingers slide through his long hair, eyes deep and warm blue. Concerned.  
"But I like being here with you." Harry whispered, "Like this."  
Louis' heart swelled. He pulled Harry's head down and kissed him, tasting his mouth and feeling the white hot love singe his edges, like the glare of sunlight on closed eyelids.  
He had spent many hours laying in this bed and tasting his tongue, losing track of time and everything outside of the movement of their mouths. He was sated by it, by the warmth of his skin and the ocean tide of his breathing.  
Harry pulled back, eyes roaming over his body.  
"Your body is the most beautiful body I've ever painted. It... it moves my hands for me. So perfect." He paused, "You're... It's the only one I don't just want to paint or observe. It makes me want..." It was quiet for a moment and Louis thought, in the spaces between their bodies where Harry' wouldn't meet his eyes, that he looked afraid to speak. "I want to love it."  
Louis' heart ached, the sound of whales singing in the ocean pulling in his chest.  
"Do you want love?" He whispered, eyes meeting his and displaying intent and gentle humor.  
"If there is love, I will grasp it." Harry stated, leaning forward and nuzzling his face against Louis' neck, rolling onto him. Louis held onto him, laying his head back and holding his body against his chest. His chest felt open and satisfied, full with Harry's against it.  
Louis lifted his head and pressed his face against his hair, heart beating happily as he held him closely.  
"There is love." Louis murmured to him, spreading his legs and wrapping them around his body. Harry's hands moved slowly over his body and he kissed him, moving slowly as their bodies shifted and pulled against each other. Making a song, and a painting, and a picture, and a life, and a love in the press of their bodies.  
"There is love." Louis whispered into his mouth, breathing becoming spirited and heavier.  
For whatever it was, or however long it would last, there was love in this moment. He knew there were fears. He knew Harry wasn't sure and that he was sure at the same time. But for now, it seems like it only takes a moment for this to be enough.


	9. Chapter 9

"Harry." Louis snapped, shaking him down with a look as heavy and piercing as Harry's own gaze, one that could cut down glass or dreams.  
Harry's hands squeezed into fists, his body screaming that if he could just pick up this man and deposit him outside of his apartment, he'd be satisfied.  
Harry had ignored him for a week, avoiding him as fully as possible, only now being cornered inside his own apartment by him. Louis had let him alone for the first few days, leaving him to work it out. But this was different. Harry wasn't painting him. And he wasn't just not painting him, he wasn't painting.  
Louis had stopped at the studio after days of radio silence, worry and irritation motivating him. Zayn had been working that day, greeting him in confusion when Louis walked past him and into the studio. He had pulled the sheet off of the canvas and seen that the piece had not changed. Harry hadn't painted at all, in a week.  
Zayn stood awkwardly a few feet behind him, Louis standing like a small brick wall in their living room.  
"Leave." Harry growled at him, eyes burning through his skin. It was hard to believe that there was conflict in any part of Harry when his eyes were only one shade of denial, looking at him. Louis didn't let this sway him. He knew what he believed, and he believed that Harry was letting his art stand in his own way.  
"No." Louis spit, expression like stone. "I'll think about it when you've explained yourself."  
"I don't have to explain myself to you." Harry snapped, "You don't have any say in what I do!"  
"I'm not forcing you to do anything but explain to me why you've decided to disappear." Louis grit. Harry narrowed his eyes and turned around, walking towards his room.  
"Fine, stay here if you want. I don't have an obligation to speak to you." He muttered.  
"So you're going to ignore me and your painting? Coward! You're going to let that canvas push you around?" Harry turned to him, looking furious, silent. Zayn edged towards the door.  
"I'm going to leave." Zayn mumbled, slipping passed him and out of the flat.  
For a few quiet moments, Louis and Harry stared at each other.  
"Why are you ignoring me." Louis spoke.  
"If I ignore you, it's my choice." His voice controlled, as if struggling to keep himself from fleeing the room.  
"And if I speak to you, it's mine." Louis snapped, "Now, tell me. What happened. Something must have made you change. I know you haven't painted anything, either."  
"Nothing changed, that's the point." Harry growled. The sun shining through the windows in the living room gave a bright, oblivious atmosphere for their clash. "I told you I didn't want to be involved with you and now the painting is changing and- I- It does not matter. It doesn't matter why I feel this way. I don't want to see you now." Louis' eyes stayed steady, his determination unwavering though his heart yearned to comfort itself from Harry's harshness, to soften it with the warmth that he knew had ability to exist in his voice.  
"Listen to me," Louis growled, "You cannot treat people like characters. Just because you suddenly decide that you want something, that doesn't mean you can disregard the people that you effect when you are directly influencing them. Me! You can't treat me like I don't change based on what you do! I am not a concept in your art piece and you are going to speak to me, because I have influence on you just as you have influence on me." Harry looked shaken and inflamed by his words, the muscle in his jaw moving. He stepped back and shifted.  
"You don't understand me, Louis." He spoke half to himself, "Zayn said this would happen."  
"He said what?" Louis' eyes flashed, his brow creasing.  
"He said you would clash with my 'insane, radical individualism, artist mentality'." His voice changed to emulate Zayn's words. "Not that I... He said you would and you are! And this is why I don't want this. Exactly this!" Louis struggled to understand, to make sense, uncrossing his arms.  
"Harry..." He muttered, trying to calm his tone. "Tell me why you stopped painting."  
"Because you're supposed to be a subject." He spoke, his voice sounding shaken and heavy, cold. "You're a subject, and you're- you're making me different. You're supposed to be the art and you're acting so... You're not a person like the others! But I don't know what to... I don't know! I don't know. I don't know how to explain this." He shook his head aggressively, pacing a few paces. Louis' anger lessened. Half of him was distracted by Harry himself, watching him exist in his radical, individualistic head space. The other part was softened by his inability to articulate his distress.  
"Okay." Louis spoke, "Why didn't you stop painting before, then. You felt this way from the start. What happened." Harry spoke quickly and casually.  
"I was researching Lucifer and the history of literature on him, and I read something that... I don't know. I just felt upset after." Louis' expression flattened.  
"What did you read?" Harry was still oblivious, finding his story normal.  
"It was about what you said when we met, about how beautiful he is. That he doesn't look wrong, he looks like everything you want. And I thought of you, and how you make me feel so weird about art but... at the same time I want to paint you. I don't know." Louis gave him a dead look.  
"You're panicking because you compared me to Lucifer." He repeated incredulously. Harry didn't seem to take notice of his scathing tone.  
"Because you're what I want. I don't understand... Everything about you... makes so much sense and that doesn't make sense. It doesn't happen to me." Louis spoke calmly to him.  
"What are you afraid of?"  
"I just... You're making me paint different... And regardless of that, I don't believe in love. I just... Love is just another art form and there's a part of me that thinks beauty is based in the mortality of the thing itself... Just- Basically, I believe that love is only love if it ends and I love you." His voice broke off suddenly, leaving Louis quiet. "I'm not a person who experiences, Louis. I'm an artist. I observe the art, the life, and put it into a context that makes me feel things. Because life doesn't happen to me, I experience it through the vessel of art. I'm an observer, not a participant. And you are the one thing that has inspired me the most and now you're... you're interacting with me. And I don't want to interact with this. Because love is not something I trust and you're forcing me to feel it for you. For the art!" He raised his hands incredulously, eyes disbelieving and sort of wild. "My art is forcing me to _be_ the art, and if I'm the art than I'm not an artist... And I'm afraid of that. I'm afraid of participating."  
Louis was quiet, not sure what to say. He thought that it made sense, now. In a way that was completely vague, it made sense. He was, in his softened heart, afraid that he would break Harry. That if he didn't allow Harry to stay out of life, that if he did not leave him as an artist and not the art, that he wouldn't paint again.  
"So what are you going to do?" Louis leveled him with an unforgiving and honest stare, "Are you going to finish the painting?"  
"I can't finish it without you." He shook his head, his eyes frothing with worry and conflict. His brow creased.  
"Than you're going to be a coward? You're going to back out of a painting that you're afraid of?" Harry glared at him.  
"You can't threaten me into finishing the piece." Louis stepped close to him, aware of how Harry's entire body shifted in sensitivity to him.  
"Here's the way I see it. You only have two choices right now. The fact is that you either finish the painting, and let it change you, even though you're scared. That's option one. You're other choice, is to let yourself be afraid of losing your ability to paint and in doing so, refuse to paint." Harry met his eyes with a look that somehow equaled in strength and dependence on every word Louis said.  
"If you're scared to be with me because you don't want to touch life, scared that it will stop you from being an artist, you can take that option. And in doing so, you'll have to stop painting the piece. The way it looks to me, you're going to scare yourself away from your own art. You're own purpose." Louis spoke, feeling as if they were balancing on a ledge, talking them both through their options. It was a surreal, scary feeling. He could see Harry weighing his options, could see him making the decision.  
He would either face his fear, or let it run him away.  
"I want to go to the studio." Harry murmured, his voice quiet and sacred. The room was silent as the decision was made and witnessed by them alone.  
"Okay." Louis nodded and kept his gaze, holding them together in solidarity as they ventured forward at risk of losing a love and a purpose all at once.  
So they left for the shop. Silent they were to each other as they unlocked the empty paint store and escaped to the secluded studio, hidden away from the world. Inside, Louis watched Harry's hands shake with a tremor that barely registered to his bare eyes as he opened paints and pulled the sheet from the canvas. Louis made himself bare and sat in his chair, missing the peculiar, third space of this pedestal he sat on after weeks of being without it.  
Louis watched as Harry's hands lost their tremor as if by some supernatural force, becoming still as he stood at the canvas. His eyes became different and engulfed, his hands moving fast ceaselessly. His eyes were indescribably, lost and completely found in a world that Louis could watch but not see.  
Louis felt his body and his heart, on his chair, aware of it. His eyes were darker and serious. His body reflected the decision that was being made today, reflected the importance of Harry's art and the love that existed in between them. He felt every inch of his skin and bones and muscles and the mellow, heavy, lively light in his eyes, could feel Harry's heart in accordance to his own.  
He could feel himself influencing Harry and he understood what he had been afraid of. He understood Harry's fear of being reached and broken down. He was reaching through the screen and grabbing him in his hands, dissolving him and telling him to make himself again.  
Harry finished and he was breathing with a weight of intensity, looking between Louis and the frozen canvas. Louis met his eyes and waited to be released. Harry nodded.  
Louis clothed himself, in the silence of the spaces between them as Harry's hands began to tremble once more, softly.  
He orbited Harry and Harry orbited him. Affecting each other's identity.  
Harry covered the canvas and sighed heavily, eyes slightly blown. A different kind of after sex that Louis was in awe of. Louis felt himself guiding gently and carefully, making sure Harry was alright as they stepped out of the studio and into the supply room.  
Louis stood with him for a moment, not touching him like he normally would.  
"Alright?" He murmured, watching Harry as he watched the ground.  
"That was terrifying and... terrifying." He mumbled. Louis accepted his words, acknowledging his inner battle with an enemy that both terrified him and only existed inside himself. It was almost silly. And completely real.  
"Are you going to be okay when I leave?" Louis asked him, getting ready to leave him here in the building.  
"Yes." Harry nodded, "I'm okay."  
Louis raised a hand and tentatively touched his arm, holding it gently when he accepted the touch.  
"Harry, I believe that artists are art as well. You're alive, weather you like it or not." Harry looked at him, his eyes bare and raw. Louis released his arm and left.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written while listening to Dare You To Move by Switchfoot. The next arch to this story is coming after this.

Louis knocked on his door, eyes light with intent as he waited.  
Zayn opened the door, looking ruffled with sleep and still soft.  
"Hey." Louis hummed. The morning was still dark, the sun not quite arrived yet.  
"Louis?" Zayn stepped aside, letting him in as they walked towards the living room. "What are you doing here so early?"  
"Uh, I wanted to see Harry for something. I know he doesn't have any classes today." Zayn grunted and nodded, gesturing to Harry as they entered the living room. He was blinking very slowly, his chest rising and falling with sleepy, morning breaths. Louis looked at him for a moment, made still by the sight of him. He was barely holding a book on his chest up, the author of it on the front, Henry David Thoreau. His hair was ruffled and the curls were messy, frizzy and wrapped around his face as he dozed on the couch. His long legs were propped on the coffee table and the blanket over his body just wasn't long enough to cover his feet.  
Louis made a noise in his throat, humming to get his attention. He blinked himself alert and lifted his head to look at him. The sleepy surprise in his eyes turned to a livid awareness as Harry sat up and lowered his book, gazing at him intently. Louis could see him thinking about what they had done the day before, could see him eyeing Louis. His expression was wary and conversely alive with sensitive excitement.  
The session Louis had pushed him into had definitely changed him, and Louis could tell. Harry wasn't steady and sure of himself right now, he was new. He stood up from the couch, kicking the blanket away and stepping forward to greet him, brow creased. Even his body told Louis that he was somehow newborn.  
He looked both very unsure about himself and ready to figure it out.  
"What's wrong?" Harry frowned, making him grin softly.  
"Nothing. I was wondering if you wanted to go out for the morning, with me."  
He narrowed his eyes.  
"What?"  
"There's a great sunrise coming on and I wanted to see it with you." Harry's head lifted and pulled back in a confused, disbelieving manner.  
"You... it's five thirty in the morning." Louis lifted a curved brow.  
"Yes? Sunrises normally happen in the early morning." Harry stared at him for a moment, silent as he considered.  
"Why?"  
"Well, because the earth turns at a regular and constant speed and angle, the sun casts a shadow over one side until a certain time we call 'morning'-"  
"Shut up." Harry growled. Louis grinned, already knowing what Harry had meant. "I meant why do you want to... do this? We don't really do things like this. I think."  
Louis expression evened, giving him honesty.  
"Because you said you wanted to paint, yesterday. You chose not to send me away. And I'm right here." Harry stared at him, a heavy depth in his eyes that made Louis feel calm. "I don't like to do things half way. So here I am."  
"Okay." Louis' eyes brightened with victory and Harry went to his room and retrieved his long, black coat. The one that made Louis think he looked too good for him.  
Harry didn't ask any questions as to where they were going as Louis led them through the streets and to an apartment complex. It was Louis' own apartment building, and he knew a stairwell that was never locked. He led Harry into it, gliding quietly through the door and up the stairs to the roof.  
Louis held the door open and watched Harry as he stepped out of the stairway and onto the rooftop, eyes wide and looking around. The sun was still gone, but the air was beginning to lighten colorlessly, hinting to the glorious show that would soon premier in the sky.  
They walked to the edge of the roof, standing a few feet from the edge. Harry, with his hands in his coat pockets, looked at the city before them.  
"Wow." He mumbled. Making Louis feel proud and satisfied. He sat on the cement and Harry sat down with him, their bodies close so that they were touching as they watched the sky, waiting for the arrival of the sun.  
They didn't talk much until Louis knew that the sun would be touching the sky at any moment, and Louis wanted to speak his thoughts before the sun rose.  
"Do you feel different? With your art, now?" Harry looked at him and Louis saw the potential energy of the morning on his face, the edge of the break of day threatening to spill it's light on his face. It seemed like it was reflecting them both as they teetered on the edge of a whole life that they were leaning over.  
"Yes." He nodded, quiet for a while as they watched each other. "I don't how you changed it... You're either a terrible mistake or a miracle."  
"Oh?" Louis whispered, swallowing.  
"I haven't quite figured out which you one you are yet." Harry whispered back, his eyes twinkling for a moment before some shade lifted over the horizon. It was slow but definite, the sun's light flying in slow motion across the air. They turned their heads and watched silently as the sun rose. It seemed so much faster when he watched it, like it all happened within a breath.  
The sun was burning over the sky in bright and blinding light when Louis looked at Harry. He was surprised to find him looking right back. His eyes were on fire, the green color inside them seeming to move or shift. The light broke over his face with an epic and silent, breath taking impact. It felt like it transcended the skin and struck through the bones. Louis decided he looked beautiful, the sunrise giving him a golden halo around the curls of his hair.  
Louis thought of kissing him, looking at his pink lips. Harry leaned forward and kissed him, taking initiative as if proving that he was the art now. Louis took hold of his hair and threw himself into him. He tasted his tongue and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing against him and breathing his air.  
"I want you... Artist and art." Louis muttered against him, feeling his stomach turn in anticipation.  
"Is there art?" Harry whispered to him, and Louis didn't think he was asking because he was unsure. He thought Harry knew the answer to that question.  
"Yes." Louis nodded, whispering nearly silent. "And an artist too."  
"If there is art, you should grasp it." Harry pulled him with his strong hands, Louis sliding into his lap and crashing into him. Harry kissed him heatedly before pulling back to look at him, burning, green eyes scouring his skin.  
"And I will, too." Harry whispered, making a tremble break through Louis' skin. He held tight to him as Harry took his face in his hands and kissed him, the light of the sunrise breaking over their wild bodies.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's been way too much seriousness in this chapter and previous... I try to break it up with Louis' smart ass but I have a bad habit of just releasing your inhibitions. But... Anyway, the actual 'event arch' plot of this story should pick up after this chapter. _feel free to comment <3 xx_

Louis lay in the bed, sipping the wine in his glass with Harry beside him. The living room muffled sound from Zayn's music as he studied. Harry traced playful shapes in his skin, speaking occasionally, or reading.  
Louis sighed, running a slow hand through his curls. He pulled his hand back to his face, leaning his fingers against his mouth, watching him. He took a sip and set the glass on the table next to the bed, sheets rustling quietly and his own breath exhaling when he lay back into the pillows.  
"Will you work on the piece tomorrow?" Louis hummed, voice soft and high. In his voice was an undertone of seriousness. Harry met his eyes, quiet for a moment as he evaluated him.  
"Not tomorrow, but the next day, yes." Louis blinked slowly at him, his eyes a low shade of blue tonight.  
"You must be near the end of it now, yeah?" He nodded.  
"Yes." Louis' eyes moved down, watching his body breathing under the tattoos on his torso.  
"Are you alright?" Harry murmured.  
"Yeah." Louis' brow furrowed, "I am. I'm worried... I have fear. But I'm alright, yes."  
Harry sat up, the waves of his hair falling over his shoulders and arranging in a new pattern. Louis stared at him, looking at the details of his beauty.  
"Why are you afraid?" Harry mumbled, "Of me finishing the piece?"  
"Yeah. Worried about the painting."  
His eyes shifted with bitter amusement.  
"And you told me I was a coward to that painting."  
Louis met his eyes seriously for a moment before rolling them.  
"Yes, I remember." Louis looked up at him from under his lashes, huffing a breath of air from his chest. He looked beautiful, and charismatic. Alluring to Harry. Drawing. "And I still believe that, so it makes us both cowards."  
Harry leaned forward, kissing his chest shortly and raising his head. He sat a little closer.  
"Perhaps I'm rubbing off on you." Louis shook his head.  
"I'm not afraid of the painting, not as you are." Harry tilted his head, Louis bringing the hand against his cheek away from his face. "I'm afraid of you, really."  
Harry's brow furrowed, expression shifting with his words.  
"How?" Louis lowered his eyes, his hand moving to brush against Harry's wrist.  
"I'm a bit worried you'll stop wanting me when you stop painting me." He could feel him watching his down turned eyes for a few moments before he lowered his own to Louis' hand against his wrist.  
"That's a fair point of contention." Louis swallowed softly and nodded, feeling in his chest as if he'd already been left behind and wilted of interest.  
"Well." Harry murmured, his voice low and and stable, something for him to pay attention to. "I can't say that I'm a consistent man in most respects. But there are certain things I don't believe I will lose interest in... I don't see myself losing interest in you. And besides, you've proven that you're very good at persuading me."  
Louis' eyes softened, a gentle smile of amusement on his lips. Harry lifted his hand from the bed and met Louis', pressing against it. His gaze looked at their hands, fingers touching and exploring slowly.  
"I see your light... I don't think it will be easy for me to look away."  
Louis' passive hand became active in his hold, reaching back and grasping his. He pulled him closer and closer until Harry hovered over his mouth, waiting for him. Louis reached and kissed his lips, lowering his head back into the pillow.  
"I see yours, too." Harry leaned down to kiss him again, laying in the bed and letting Louis roll onto him.  
He kissed him and giggled at his words and drank wine with him as they passed the night.


	12. Chapter 12

The sun was out bright today. The leaves on the trees were beginning to grow back as the cold of winter bled slowly away, day by day. Spring would be arriving soon, Louis noticed as he yawned and made his way to the studio. He sipped a cup of tea, still waking up as the streets bustled and buzzed past him.  
He was happy to step off of the street and into the building when he reached the art shop. A woman that greet Louis most days that he came in waved at him and smiled warmly.  
"Morning, Louis." He waved back.  
"Morning, Diana." He smiled back and made his way up the stairs to the shop. Zayn sat at the counter and read a book, nodding at him when he stepped inside.  
"Hey, Lou." He mumbled. Louis hummed in response and set his tea on the counter top. Zayn rolled his eyes at the empty cup of tea. "How's Liam?"  
"Fine, why? Haven't you been sneaking out on coffee dates with him whenever you get the chance?" Zayn didn't blink, unfazed by Louis' sly grin.  
"No." His tone flat. "Haven't seen him in a few days, he's always busy with school."  
"Are you going to make it official soon?" Louis tipped his head, smiling playfully.  
"Nope." Zayn returned his attention to the book and flipped a page.  
"Alright." Louis began to walk through the store room towards the studio. "You should tell him I said hello when you return his book!"  
He heard Zayn grumble under his breath, hunching his shoulders over the pages of what Louis had recognized as Liam's book. He was easy to tease.  
Louis ducked his head and slipped through the tattered curtain to the studio. Inside the lighting was brighter than usual. There was less moody angle and tint than Louis was used to, the kind that accentuated the edges of his body when Harry used him as a model.  
Harry was sitting at the table near his paint supplies, writing with slanted script in black ink, the page filled with notes. He leaned his chin on his hand as he read out of a large book next to the papers. Louis noticed the usual paint brushes and oils were packed away in their bag, the canvas still covered.  
"Hey, Hazza." He hummed. He lifted his gaze and stopped writing, eyes traveling all the way down and back up. Harry probably didn't notice that he did that most times they met. Louis did, he was quite aware of Harry's eyes and the ways they looked at him. Harry sat up and rubbed his jaw, looking at him quietly for a moment.  
"Hey." He mumbled. Louis walked over to him, coming close. He watched Harry's eyes follow him, the way they touched over his hips and chest when he got close. Louis leaned against the table, looking at his paper.  
"How's the essay coming?" Louis rasped quietly. Harry's eyes hesitated for a moment, hovering on his body and face before returning to the book in front of him.  
"Fine." He shrugged, "Good."  
"I'm sure you write well. They're asking a loaded question, asking you for your opinion, I think." He chuckled, Harry frowning.  
"I don't like giving my opinion." He stacked the papers together, putting them in the book and closing it. "The professor always leaves comments."  
"Well, I'm sorry."  
Louis mumbled, unable to refrain from letting his hand wander to the base of Harry's neck, petting the ends of his hair. He stood up, becoming taller and making Louis smile softly. Harry's heavy hands touched his waist, rubbing softly. Louis' hands brushed over his. He didn't normally touch him before painting him.  
He turned away from Louis, stepping towards the canvas, all of the supplies still put away.  
"There's no painting today." Harry faced him. Louis tipped his head in confusion. "The piece is done."  
Louis was quiet for a few moments. His milky, baby blue eyes wide.  
"It's finished?"  
Harry nodded, his hands sliding into his pockets.  
"When?" Louis suddenly felt very clothed and strange, knowing there would not be any more hours on the stiff wood of the chair in front of the canvas. Not today or any other day.  
"Last time you were here." Harry murmured, "That's why it only lasted forty minutes. I just didn't say anything right away."  
"Oh." Louis swallowed, nodding.  
"I'll show it to you, if you want to see it." Harry's voice was quiet, and void of any hardness or cold edge. It soothed some of Louis' staleness.  
"I haven't seen it in a while, now." Louis mumbled, stepping a little closer.  
Harry pulled the bottom of the sheet up and away, and suddenly the painting was uncovered and in full view. He stepped away from it and looked at him.  
Louis stood still, mouth open slightly and eyes quiet. He felt his stomach drop at the sight of the man in the colors of the painting. It made him feel strange and unhinged.  
He couldn't believe that Harry had seen him in that way, ever. An unsteady moment of stark self awareness pierced Louis for a moment. He must have looked pale for a moment because Harry gave him a worried look. In fact, Harry had been watching him this whole time. There's a first for everything.  
Louis' emotions settled slowly as he stepped closer and let his eyes move slowly over the lines and colors and details.  
It was raw and real.  
"I can't believe you made this." He whispered, looking up to the top of the painting. His eyes followed the edge, not sure how the painting could stop or start. He turned his face to Harry, his expression of ambivalence meeting his eyes. Harry was actually concerned with how he felt about it.  
"You're the first person to see it." Harry spoke, his voice breaking the silence with a brave uncertainty.  
"Zayn?" Louis held his gaze, transferring his feeling from the painting to it's - his - painter.  
Harry shook his head, the sheet still in his hands.  
"I thought you should be the first... I don't normally have any concern with others reactions to my paintings but I wanted you to see it. First."  
Louis was quiet. Glancing back at the painting.  
"It's... good, Harry."  
"It only happened because of you." He mumbled, "It would have been completely different if you hadn't... been yourself." Louis felt the strange self awareness trickle back in, making him look away from the piece.  
"You see me like that?" Harry shifted, eyes receptive and reactive.  
"It's not always that way. That's just all of it put together at once."  
Louis met his eyes, his hands suddenly feeling empty. He wanted to be met with Harry. To feel steady.  
He lifted his hand and held it out for him, waiting. Harry looked at it for a moment before taking it and stepping closer. His hand reached Harry's shoulder and he pulled him against him. Harry hugged him back.  
"What now?" Louis asked, Harry pulling back and leaving his hands against him.  
"Now, I'll let Zayn see it and then give it to my professors. If they like it, they'll put it in a showcase."  
"That's weird."  
Harry smiled, "A little bit, right?"  
Louis was quiet, looking at Harry's hands.  
"Is this going to change?" He asked, looking up at him. He knew how unforgiving and cold those eyes could be but he met them bravely.  
"Yes." Harry nodded, making Louis' stomach chill. "But not end. It'll be alright, I think. Just be patient."  
Louis nodded, glancing back at the painting.  
"In fact, why don't we go get some end of the painting coffee?" He offered.  
"I'll have tea, thanks." Louis smiled, Harry rolling his eyes.  
Harry covered the painting again and led them to the door, letting Louis hold his hand even if he didn't normally enjoy that sort of thing.


	13. Chapter 13

"Are we really going to an art show case?" Louis asked incredulously, pulling a formal jacket on over his fitted black button down. He looked at himself in the mirror of Harry's bathroom. He was just on the right side of casually formal. He ran a hand through his hair, making sure he looked alright. He noticed Harry flipping through a book he was reading for his courses once more, already dressed and ready.  
Louis looked at him, watching him stand in the middle of the room, flipping the pages with the crease in his brow growing deeper as he searched for something. He was wearing his dress clothes, his undershirt was floral and tastefully colorful. At first Louis had thought it looked ridiculous; who wears something like that. But after the initial sighting, every time after, he thought it looked good and suited him. Louis' mouth twitched into a soft smile.  
"Yes, we are. I am." Harry spoke, "You don't have to go."  
Louis rolled his eyes fondly, stepping out of the bathroom towards him. Harry lifted his gaze and looked at him. His movements slowed and he lifted his head, looking him over. Louis was torn between cocky and softened by the gaze he earned from him.  
"You look good." Louis murmured, stepping forward and running a hand over his shirt, under his jacket. His clothes fitted to his shoulders and body well, outlining his frame.  
"Thanks." Harry mumbled, "You do too. You look good, too. Great."  
Louis took the book gently from his hands and set it on the bed.  
"I just don't see you liking something like this." Louis raised his curved brows. "You're not going to like other people asking you about your art, weather they have good things to say or bad, I'm sure." Harry frowned.  
"I know." He shrugged, "But my professor expects me to go... And I want to."  
"Why?" Harry's voice was gentle and honest.  
"I kind of like seeing it with the lighting they put on it. I just like seeing it in the rooms, in one spot where I can... look at it. I don't know. It's my painting, I want to go see it. I guess."  
Louis' chest softened at that.  
"Well, I'm coming with you. And we can have wine when we get there, and look at the painting in the nice lighting. And marry the night, paint the town, whatever you want." Harry lifted his head, rolling his eyes, making Louis snicker playfully.  
They left the flat, meeting up with Zayn and Liam at the door and getting a cab. In the cab, the city lights flashed by and the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Zayn and Liam spoke with each other and Louis sat quietly with Harry.  
"You're parents are going to be there, for sure?" Louis murmured softly.  
"Yes."  
"Exciting." Louis smiled, thinking of finally seeing them.  
"Yeah." Harry mumbled and he paused, his thoughts moving around behind his eyes, before shifting a bit so his shoulder pressed against Louis'.  
When they arrived it turned out to be a bigger showcase than Louis had anticipated. He stepped out with wide eyes, standing on the sidewalk as the boys got out of the cab. The venue wasn't big, but it was bigger than he expected, and lively with guests. Cars dropped people off and slid past the front, the glass doors of the building open. Warm light spilled out and soft, instrumental music drifted out.  
It was spring time now, the air was warming. It made Louis feel a bit like they were coming out of hibernation, emerging from their little world. In the cold of winter, he and Harry seemed centralized and alone with each other. The painting was still unknown and unfinished. Now, Louis felt them moving forward.  
Louis followed Harry as they walked inside, Zayn and Liam beside them. Liam was absolutely pleased with the ordeal, sticking close to Zayn and smiling pleasantly at the people and artwork. Zayn gliding along calm and cool, the balance to their duo. Louis heard him, however, making jokes about the art and the viewers, earning laughs from Liam.  
As he and Harry paused in the middle of the room, Louis watched him glance around with a halfhearted displeasure.  
"What?" Louis hummed, standing a little close to him to hear him speak over the sound of the chatting guests and to be nearer to him.  
"These places always make me feel weird, a little." He muttered, "All the people analyzing and acting like they're interested in half of the work on display. It's fine. It's just a little pretentious and... artsy."  
Louis smiled widely and chuckled, making Harry frown at him.  
"One could argue that _you're_ a bit pretentious and artsy." Harry looked away and growled under his breath.  
"That's hilarious."  
"I know." Louis sighed, "You know I'm teasing, Harry. Although you are quite severe."  
"I know." He muttered, eyes still dampened with his frown as he slid a hand to the small of his back and led him towards the back of the room. They didn't get far before a few people stopped and greeted them.  
"Styles." An older man approached them and shook his hand. Louis took note of Harry's acceptance of the man, the way he gave him his attention and greeted him respectfully.  
"Mister Rosales." Harry gave him a smile. Mister Rosales had his collegues besides him, a few of them holding some champagne.  
"I'm glad you came, Harry." Rosales smiled, making Louis think of intelligence and warmth. "I've brought some friends of mine, professors from other cities here to see the work you did for us."  
"I'm glad to be here." Harry murmured, "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be."  
"Of course, of course." Rosales laughed, patting his shoulder. Louis watched him, believing him. It was new to see him accepting and friendly towards others. "This is Jenna Newton and James Cote, they're from Montana and New York."  
"That's a long way to come for this." Harry raised his brow. The two smiled humbly and Louis thought they looked very posh and out of his league.  
"There's a lot of very promising mature artist here tonight." Jenna Newton said.  
"My, my." Mister Rosales hummed, eyes narrowing through his glasses at Louis. Harry's eyes became more serious, his presence comforting him. "This must be your model."  
Newton and Cote both eyed Louis more severely now, eyes recognizing him from the painting. Louis didn't shift, but he felt ironically more uncomfortable now than he did when Harry was picking apart the details of his bare skin.  
"This is Louis Tomlinson." Harry introduced him. No one offered to shake hands, just looking at him, inspecting.  
"He's very noticeable." Cote commented quietly, "The painting actually looks like him."  
Harry didn't speak. Louis didn't know what any of that meant but they seemed to.  
Jenna hummed in surprise, "I didn't expect him to be of that much clarity, you certainly took less liberty with the reference than many do with their models."  
Harry nodded, eyes unreadable in their depth. The others agreed with her, making Louis feel suspended and a bit strange.  
"It is a bit less common," Rosales agreed. "But, I certainly say that he resonates in the piece. It is unconventional, but we all know how this art is. I'm proud of you, Harry. I believed you could make something worth while, or I wouldn't have put you up to the task."  
"It is impressive, I agree." Newton murmured quietly. James Cote nodded. Harry thanked them and they moved off, leaving them to drift slowly towards where Liam and Zayn stood.  
"What the hell was that?" Louis huffed, swallowing. Harry looked at him and laughed at his expression, making Louis soften at his smile.  
"Nothing," He lowered his head, speaking lowly to him. "Most of the time, models don't look like themselves on the canvas, visually. They were saying that I didn't use you as a reference of anatomy or... lighting, that I actually painted you. They didn't expect you to look like what I painted as much as you actually did."  
"Oh." Louis muttered.  
"Did they intimidate you?"  
"No." Louis met his eyes with admirable resolve. "Not at all. Which shouldn't surprise you, considering you couldn't scare me off."  
Harry actually smiled at that, "I suppose I couldn't."  
They met with Zayn and Liam and made their way to the back of the show to see Harry's work. Louis made sure they stopped by a table and picked up some of the most shiny and rich looking red wine provided. Harry didn't take any but sipped from his glass, sighing and rolling his shoulders as if becoming more adjusted to the room full of people and art.  
They reached the heavy looking, wide canvas that Louis had been seeing the back of for far too long now. It was hung on the wall, with all of the warm lighting that Harry had mentioned before shining on it and making the colors rich. They stood to the side, Liam and Zayn trying each other's wines. A crowd had gathered in front of the painting, the well dressed viewers quietly looking to the piece. Some of them whispered to each other and pointed quietly to the work, some of them just staring.  
"Quite the turn out." Zayn nudged Harry. He rolled his eyes.  
"They're all looking because they see other people looking so they stopped too." Louis didn't think that was totally true, considering the amount of well educated, knowledgeable people that were here.  
"This is the weirdest thing." Louis muttered, "I'd have never imagined myself in this position half a year ago." Harry looked at him, seeming to avoid seeing the viewers at his painting.  
"I wouldn't have either." Harry muttered, "I'm not normally that successful."  
"How is it?"  
"Weird." Harry met his eyes, quirking an amused smile as Louis chuckled. "I don't really enjoy seeing them looking at it. I'd rather not be here for it. Some of my classmates are here, too. I just don't like being here for the attention on it."  
"Well, you look very unapproachable. I'm sure they'll leave you alone if anyone recognizes. At least no one will openly talk to you about it." Harry giggled and looked away.  
They stood for a moment while Louis sipped his wine and they waited for the crowd to clear so they could move closer and see it.  
"Harry!" A soft voice chimes, getting his attention. A bright, smiling women approaches them, exuding warmth.  
"Hey, mum." Harry hugs her, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. His father hugs him, too, and so does a girl that looks about his age.  
"What's up, H." She ruffles his hair. She was tall, and beautiful, much like him. Zayn greets his family as well, all of them talking together for a moment.  
"Gemma." Harry smiled, his dimples appearing.  
"Who's this?" His mother waves at Louis and Liam standing together.  
"This is Louis, the model for the painting. And that's his friend, Liam." She shook their hands, her grip warm and comforting. She turned back to her son.  
"I'm so glad to see you, Harry." She wrapped her arm around his and squeezed him once more. Louis watched with interest, him behaving friendly and gently to his mother and sister. They waited for a few moments before Harry pointed at the empty space in front of the work and his mother led them all over to look at the painting.  
"Damn, you're naked." Gemma muttered, standing next to Louis as they looked at the piece.  
"That's accurate." Liam stood on his other side, eyes a little wide and very obviously ignoring his more private areas on the painting. Louis laughed, standing quietly next to them. Zayn looked on silently at the painting, having seen it before.  
When Louis leaned his head forward to see Harry's mother looking at the painting, eyes wide and out of her depth. Louis knew she didn't understand it, but also knew by the way she looked at her son, that just sight of the painting itself was enough to make her proud of him. Harry was ignoring them, his jaw set a little tensely and his head tilted away from the painting and his family. He was tall and strong and well dressed, uncomfortable and agitated. It was a crying shame that he was having to learn how to see himself as art. From the angle Louis was at, he was an artist and an art all in one stroke of the universe.  
Louis' feet urged halfheartedly for him to walk to his side and distract him or just be next to him. He did eventually, shuffling to stand next to Harry while his family chatted and Gemma exchanged some very sibling like talk with him for a quick moment. Harry was patient and kept his distaste under control until his family was ready to leave the show. He kissed his mothers cheek and hugged his sister and father goodbye.  
Louis felt his own muscles loosen in response to the departure of Harry's loving family, glad to be more or less alone with him once again. Zayn and Liam moved away from them, making their way to their own devices.  
Louis leaned a little closer to Harry's side and they faced the piece, looking at it quietly for a moment. Louis monitored for a moment, the amount of people next to them. He was thankful that, for the moment, only a few onlookers were whispering under their breaths and touching their chins as they looked at the paint.  
Louis felt Harry's shoulders relax and watched him, seeing his expression relax. It seemed like he'd reached some sort of soft, happy place. The painting before them was beautiful, truly. Presented under the pretty lights, just like Harry wanted, with his name and the name of the piece on a little tag near the bottom of the canvas. For the moment, there weren't any people in the way, only milling about the periphery. Harry looked at his painting and Louis felt satisfied that he could view it now, happily and little disturbed. It was what Harry had wanted the most out of tonight.  
Louis knew that this painting meant something to Harry, for him to want to look at his own work.  
Harry inhaled deeply and sighed lowly, his body leaning against Louis' as if finding the calming relief of a hug. Louis looked up at him, surprised to feel such honesty in his body when they weren't alone in his bedroom.  
"I wish there weren't anyone else here." Harry sighed quietly, his head turning to brush the bridge of his nose against Louis' hair for a moment before looking back to the piece. "It just looks sort of... kind of perfect, right now. I wish it were just us."  
Louis made himself stronger and his body receptive, receiving and reciprocating his warmth.  
"It looks beautiful, Harry." Louis murmured, turning his face and speaking quietly to him only. "Maybe we'll get a chance to see it somewhere else, like this. Just you and no one else."  
Harry's eyes lingered on the work before he stood independently from him once more.  
"I'm going to go look around, I suppose." Harry murmured, head tilted down at him as if offering for him to join. Louis stayed next to him, following him into the crowd and looking at the wide variety of art.  
Louis retrieved another glass of wine, sipping and floating from piece to piece of art. Most of the works didn't make him feel anything more than complexity and blankness. He and Harry drifted away from each other, staying within a short distance of each other, able to glance up and relocate through the crowd. Harry hadn't been wrong about the pretentious art people atmosphere of the place. It did, in some places, make Louis feel a little strange. He ignored it, enjoying the wine and confusing art pieces. Occasionally he laughed under his breath when he saw someone attempting to converse with Harry, unable to earn anything more than nods and spared glances.  
"Hello?" A stranger tapped on Louis' shoulder, gaining his attention. He faced a few young, obvious art students or enthusiasts with sharp gazes.  
"Hi." Louis gave them a confused look, "Do you know me?"  
"You're the model in the After The Fall piece, aren't you?" One of them spoke, somehow making Louis feel like they weren't talking to him. The other looked at him intensely, eyes sliding up and down.  
"Uh," Louis' face flattened, "I am, yeah."  
"It's amazing." The girl muttered, narrowing her eyes as they fluttered across his face.  
"It's really strange to see you in person." The boy nodded. Louis' mouth twitched in an awkward beginning of a laugh, thinking for a moment that it must be a joke. It quickly faded to a more tolerating, idle expression when he realized they were serious. His eyes caught Harry's agitated form, taking note of his eyes as they glanced fitfully to him and away as he tried to ignore the people as they inspected Louis.  
"What other paintings have you modeled in?" The man asked him.  
"Uh, none. I'm really not a model, it was an accident. I'm really not." He shrugged.  
"Wow," They laughed. "Natural, organic. Nice."  
Louis stared at them for a moment.  
"You really translated to the painting, it looks amazing." Louis' brow creased, shaking his head.  
"I really didn't do anything..." He opened his mouth to speak.  
"Well, you modeled." She laughed, "That's a whole practice, you know." She spoke as if he didn't know about modeling.  
"Right." Louis said, "I really didn't model. I just... I just sat there. Really, he painted me. He did... everything. Sometimes I got up and he'd chastise me for moving, I didn't do anything."  
"Cool." The man shrugged. "Listen, you should come by the club on second street sometime. A lot of the local artists kind of hang out there, it's really relaxed. There's probably plenty of people who could use a model."  
"Okay." Louis nodded and turned from them, waving as he walked away from them. He made his way to a very irritated looking Harry, back to a wall and waiting for Louis to leave his conversation.  
"Hey." Louis murmured, taking a mouthful of his wine and swallowing. "That was terrible."  
The muscle in Harry's jaw tightened.  
"It was terrible from here." He muttered, "I didn't even have to hear it to know."  
"They were just weird." Louis murmured, praying no one else would approach him tonight and break Harry's anonymity barrier that he liked to keep between him and the others.  
"Let's get out of here." Harry raised off of the wall.  
"Where?" He shifted, ready to follow.  
"Upstairs."  
"Alright." He nodded and followed Harry through the slightly too crowded room as they made their way passed displays and to the back. Louis set his wine down on a random counter, following hastily behind him as they slinked up the stairs. He was eager to escape the atmosphere of the downstairs and escape they did.  
The upstairs opened up into a small room, empty of displays. Only a couch and a table filled the smaller room, empty of any people. Outside of the room, an open set of doors let the light spill onto a balcony. It was small but just what he needed.  
Harry walked with him onto the balcony, bringing him in closer. Louis relaxed and let his hands rest on Harry's shoulders, pressing close to him as they stood quietly for a moment. Downstairs, the sound of the soft music floated up from the show case. Louis smiled softly as the music changed to something waltzy with a slow, deep, warm pulse. Strings made it sound soft and romantic, the sound creating an atmosphere to dance to.  
Louis ran his fingers over Harry's chest, touching the place where he knew the sparrows resided. He thought about them, in flight to each other. They swayed together quietly to the music, slow dancing. Louis lifted his chin and looked at his painter, his Harry.  
"You look really, really beautiful." Louis murmured.  
"Thank you." Harry replied, sounding somewhat unsure of how to receive the compliment and softened by it.  
"Do you like your painting?" He rasped quietly.  
"That's a loaded question." Harry smirked softly, strong arms sliding around his waist a little more.  
"You seem a little attached to it." He swayed with him. "When you're in front of it."  
"I don't hate it. I suppose I do... like it. It's hard for me to like what I make, in that way, sometimes. But, that one is important to me."  
"How?" Harry blinked, pausing. He was much more adjusted to talking for Louis when asked.  
"I changed while I was making it. I became someone very different while I was creating it and it has your... It means a lot when I look at it. So, I suppose I am connected to it, yeah."  
Louis felt his body soften a little more in his hold, letting the silence lull.  
"I'm happy I came tonight." He murmured, letting his fingers play with the ends of his curls. "And met your mother. And just... came with you."  
"I'm happy you came with me." Harry's fingers shifted over his body. "And you know I think you looked good tonight, too."  
Louis smiled and giggled quietly under his breath. He slid his arms around his shoulders and leaned up on his toes. He pressed their lips together, Harry getting the message and ducking his head so he could lean off of his toes. He kissed softly and let Harry taste the wine on his lips, loving him by his mouth gently before pulling away.  
Harry held his head close to his when he pulled away, nose brushing his hair as Louis lay his head against his chest. He pulled his arms down from his shoulders and rested them against his arms. A heavy, love sick sigh flowed from his lungs as he closed his eyes and lay against his chest. He wished he was home for a moment and that Harry smelled more like Harry instead of the clean linen materiel he was wearing.  
"I love you." Harry whispered into his ear as they swayed slowly.  
"I'm surprised you said it out loud." Louis whispered, smiling against his chest. He'd said it before but he knew the reluctance and reserve that he used, refraining from saying it when he felt it more times than not.  
"Well, I do." Harry shrugged, head bowed over his against his chest. "I'm just not used to it. I've been far too fond of myself, anyways. A little too careful. I may as well get out there and embrace it... And you. You taught me that."  
Louis nudged his nose against him, nuzzling into him a bit.  
"I'm quite fond of you, I think." Harry huffed in amusement, his lungs moving under his ear.  
After a while, Louis lifted his head.  
"Take me home." He mumbled, "I want to get out of here."  
Harry nodded, happy to afford him his request.  
On the way out, as Louis followed him through the emptying art show, he felt warm and alright. Harry paused and looked across the room at his painting once more before they left.  
"I don't know how but it's you." He frowned, "It is Satan after the fall, but I think it's you. The painting turned into you and I didn't really notice I was doing it."  
They turned their backs on the piece, moving onto the street to hail a cab. Louis waited without any hurry, to fall into bed with him and lock the door to the world for the shelter of the night and his hands.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters continue to turn out so much more serious and thick (annoyingly) than I anticipate them being. Everything seems much less dramatic in my head until I write it out. I did, however, write this while listening to It's You by Zayn, so I shouldn't wonder why it ended up heavy. Sorry if this is a drag to read. Honestly, the last chapter is coming soon and it's not going to be very comical and simple, either.  
> This story was far more serious than I planned, it's saved in my computer as "one shot satan painter au". It wasn't even a one shot, the chapters are saved as one shot through to fourteen shot.  
> Anyways. If anyone wants to translate this in any language I'm open. :)  
>  _tell me what you liked about this in the comments! all the love x_  
>  (This fic is finished, I'm waiting to post the last chapter but it won't be very long. Update is coming.)

The bed was warm and alone between the two of them.  
Louis breathed deep and slow, the low burn of a moderate orgasm still buzzing softly through the muscles in his body. Harry's breath was against him, the movement of his lungs and chest coming and going. Rising, falling. Pushing, pulling. Like tides and empires. Eras and years. Loves and losses.  
This doesn't feel like a loss to him, however. Just a love that stays and stays and weakens and strengthens in seasons.  
Harry's eyes blinked closed, closing his mouth and breathing through his nose with their foreheads together, noses brushing. Louis kept his eyes open, observing him. He was strong and rendered into a stumbling mass of beauty and weakness. It was all really much less climactic and cinematic. Simple. Mindless. Empty. Them together in the night. It didn't matter, however. Somehow, out of the touch of his simple skin, something that felt like a whole lifetime and a meaning seeped into his heart.  
Louis breathed against him, feeling their chests pressed together. His legs tangled with his, their hips still against the other's. The blankets were lumped in mounds around them, the weak light of the city and the moon leaking through the curtains.  
"Hey, Lou." Harry mumbled out of context. They'd been going at it without any words, for the duration of the night. They were together, without any communication, stripped to bare forms of understanding and mindless contact. Now, Harry returned to him with words.  
"Hi." Louis smiled weakly, sweat making his temples and neck slick and hot.  
Louis lay limply, half against him and half in the bed. He became quiet, his breathing becoming shallow, his eyes becoming more simple.  
"We're going to need a shower." He rasped, his voice stripped and raw. Harry could hear the effect of his moans and feel the shadow of his mouth sliding to the base of his cock, giving him pleasure.  
"Yeah." Harry nodded, feeling softened and stripped of his aggression and defense. Weak and vulnerable.  
"Do you want to stay together in the morning?" Louis murmured, his eyes watching his body, the tattoos and the strong innocence.  
"I want to be with you in the morning, yeah." He nodded, "You're annoying, but you're an excellent lay." Louis rolled his eyes, mustering up the strength to laugh high in his throat.  
"You're an excellent fuck as well, love." He mumbled, shifting with the strength he had in his loose muscles. His head lay on Harry's arm. "I'd say you're the most unbearably adverse person I've ever met... but I don't know. You're an ass but I see you're very soft somewhere in there. I see you too softly, I guess."  
The muscle in his broad body strained under his skin, barely illuminated in the darkness, as he rolled himself onto his side and wrapped his body a little closer to Louis', his heat radiating into him.  
"I love you." He muttered, saying it as if he didn't want to linger with his words. Louis pulled his chin back so that he could watch his face, could lift his fingers to brush the lines of his jaw softly.  
"We should go somewhere." Louis whispered, watching Harry open his eyes once to see him and close them again. "Take a couple of weeks to travel somewhere, see something."  
"I would do that with you."  
"And we can also start trying all of the restaurants in the city, and you should cook new things. I'll be your taste tester."  
Harry's mouth pulled into a soft smile.  
"Alright. Travel and food." He muttered.  
"I mean it." Louis murmured, smiling as his fingers moved slowly over his jaw and neck.  
"I do, too."  
The silence lulled for a moment, the steady pulse of his heart becoming noticeable, beating at a pace that it only seemed to move after sex.  
"Will you ever paint me again?" He whispered into the quiet. Harry opened his eyes to him.  
"I don't know." He answered, "Do you wish that I would?"  
"I think so." He nodded.  
"I could." Harry murmured, "I doubt that I won't end up needing to again."  
"Good." Louis mumbled. He thought of anything else to say, his body was cooled off now.  
He couldn't think of anything so he filled his lips with Harry's, kissing him and lifting his head. Harry followed his lead faithfully, asking for no explanation or meaning, pushing his tongue into his mouth. Louis' jaw opened and their mouths moved together slowly as he lifted himself up with his straining muscles. Harry's wide, strong hands placed on either sides of his ribs, holding him as Louis pulled himself onto him. He kissed and reached down to take Harry's length in his hands and pull softly.  
"Want me to use my mouth or no?" Louis mumbled, kissing the corners of his mouth. Harry didn't answer, using his hands to take his hips in his hands and pull them down closer to his cock.  
"After this, you're letting me suck you off." He growled quietly, making Louis smile and angle his hips towards his length. Harry held his hips firm and nodded, somehow communicating with him. Louis reached down and took him in his hand, guiding his cock between his legs and pushing back until he was sliding down on him.  
He closed his eyes and exhaled, rocking back and forth and kissing him occasionally, head bowed close to his. Louis reached behind his head and squeezed the pillows, pawing at them and kneading as he rocked with his trembling muscles slow and deep on him.  
Louis moaned quietly, his voice vibrating shortly. His head fell forward and he leaned his forehead against the place where Harry's shoulder met his chest.  
He thought briefly about opening his mouth and speaking to him, slurring and mumbling about plans and destinations, futures. He thought about talking to him about showers and the next morning, and seeing a new movie or hanging out with Zayn. He didn't say anything, finding no place for words in their moment. He kept it bare and minimal, raw. The words would get in the way of him and he didn't want that. He'd rather fill his mouth with his tongue than use his own to speak, here in this agreement that they'd made to just move together for a few hours.  
He let one of his hands find his curls, resting his head on his chest and sighing softly.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks.  
> A couple of notes I wanted to say on this before closing it off:
> 
> This was based on a prompt I saw on tumblr. The flyer is from a movie which I mentioned at the first chapter of this fic. Here's the prompt: http://knitmeapony.tumblr.com/post/122610196549/bamf-happens-imagine-your-otp
> 
> And I can't think of anything else to say... thanks for reading this everyone! All who have commented and bookmarked and kudo(ed), you're amazing, thanks so much. 
> 
> By the way, the italics in this chapter are lines from the song that is playing.  
>  
> 
> _Please comment what you liked about this, all the love. xx_
> 
> Tumblr@ thisshipsailsitselff

The painting grew in popularity.  
Louis found that he needed a job as the money from modeling began to run out. He didn't find it as hard as he had before to get a job, perhaps his pride disallowed him to be less than admirable in front of Harry. Whatever it was that Harry found admirable, however, only he knew.  
Louis did receive a few offers for modeling jobs, some people interested in him. He turned them down, imagining that posing for someone other than Harry would be both uncomfortable and terribly dull along with an overall distaste for the idea. Louis hadn't told Harry about the first offer and hadn't intended to bother him with the information until he'd let it slip later on. He didn't like the idea either.  
Harry didn't understand the public's interest in the piece, having little to say about it's success.  
"It's strange. I've never been a recognized artist... They care about it. I know they don't see it the way I do, but they see something. It's strange." He had mumbled on a tired Monday evening, sighing. "I don't totally like it. But it is what it is, I suppose."  
Louis knew he felt this way, didn't understand it the way Harry did, but didn't disagree. Somewhere in his own heart, it felt a little unnatural for the people to like the painting. It was Harry and himself in the strokes of paint on that canvas, somewhere in the substance of the paint, they existed. It didn't feel right, in some way, to know it was being sought after by strangers.  
Perhaps Harry was rubbing off on him a small bit.  
The painting traveled from university to art show to professors and continued to accumulate interest in the public. All the while, Louis kept his thoughts and his heart at home where they were private and real. He kept his love for Harry close to his home while a piece of it's evidence moved around the country.

-

Louis sighed heavily, walking up the steps to Harry's apartment. The day had been long and he was relieved to return to the curly haired intensity upstairs. He missed Harry and his jokes that came out of no where, surprising Louis. The crease in his straight brow. The thoughtful frown. The food he made.  
He was glad he was going to see him after the day at work.  
Rain sprinkled down around him and dampened his coat, his hair laying heavily in it's curves. The sun had already disappeared today, the watery street lamps shedding cold light on the roads as cars buzzed passed slowly in the puddles.  
Ducking into the house, he shook his coat off, water droplets trembling and springing away. He made his way to Harry's living room, pulling his coat off of his shoulders. The adjacent kitchen smelled like soup and the living room was warmly lit by the lamps near the couch and in the corner. The windows with their curtains drawn, showed the streams of water as the rain picked up to a quicker pace. He lay his coat on a chair, kicking off his shoes and looking around for him.  
"Harry?" He called, running a hand through his cold hair and rolling his shoulders. Harry stepped out of his room; his pretty, wide eyes finding him. Louis' heart soothed a little, smiling mindlessly.  
"Hey, love." He mumbled, hands in his pockets, Harry looking over him from his feet to his head.  
Harry was wearing jeans and a shirt, his hair down against his shoulders. Louis noticed he wasn't as playful as he was at some times, his eyes betraying seriousness and his own absorption into himself.  
"Are you going to come say hello?" Louis murmured, tilting his head a little and watching him think about it. He padded closer to him, coming to stand with him.  
"Hello." He spoke, lifting a hand and touching Louis' face softly. His eyes inspected him and his fingers explored his jaw and cheek, reuniting himself with his features and his feeling.  
"Did you make food?" Louis asked.  
"Yes." He lowered his hands, drawing them back as if purposefully. "Are you staying tonight?"  
"I suppose that depends." He shrugged, "I have work tomorrow, so I can't stay up with you. But if you'd like to have a quiet night in with me, I wouldn't mind that at all. On Saturday, though, I'm off work. If you want I can come home after work tomorrow and spend the night."  
"I'm leaving, Louis." His low voice murmured. His tone was simple and barren.  
Louis stared at him for a moment, his mouth open slightly.  
"What's that?" His brow creased in confusion.  
Harry spoke again, his voice honest and steady, "I'm going to Europe. I leave on Sunday."  
Louis' insides began to feel cold and his thoughts took a sour, rejecting taste.  
"For how long?" He spoke.  
"It could be a while." Harry spoke, his eyes watching him so closely. Louis now wished he would stop watching or look away. "A few months at minimum."  
"Months." Louis' voice was so quiet it was a wonder that he didn't whisper. His eyes were still and only ghosting the strange feelings behind them.  
"How long have you known this?" Louis asked, his eyes hardening to a small degree.  
"For a week." He paused, his eyes showing some hidden ambivalence. "I wasn't sure if I would go or not, I had to decide."  
Louis' throat tightened, his stomach knotting. His thoughts raced along the track of Harry's detachment. The way he took convincing. How careless he could be at times. Louis sometimes had to remind him aggressively that he had to be a certain level of considerate to him. The only reason it never mattered was because he contradicted his carelessness with an intense focus and affection. An affection that reminded Louis of his care.  
"And you decided against me?" He leveled him with an unaccusing, but painfully honest stare. Harry's brow creased, grimacing.  
"You don't even know what reason I have for going." He chastised.  
"What is it?"  
"The piece was requested to be taken to a show there." He spoke as if hoping to make sense of this for him. "Some people have requested to view it. There may even be money in it, not that it matters. But it's a serious opportunity. There are European galleries that can change everything, it can open it up to a network of museums and critics that are different from America."  
"You hate it when people look at your art." Harry's jaw ticked, the unashamed truth of Louis' statement ringing.  
"I'm not going to let it rot in some house, never being seen." He remained quiet for a few moments. "I don't know all things or the right things but I think, maybe, the whole reason paintings exist is to be seen. And to be created, but I've already done that."  
Louis looked away from him, his lashes casting over his eyes as he turned his gaze to their feet.  
He'd chosen between his passion and Louis. And he hadn't won.  
"Alright." Louis spoke quietly to the ground, lifting his eyes to see him again. He didn't cry even though in some part of their minds it seemed like he should. Louis thought in his head of what he should do, meeting his stupidly, honest, unbearable eyes and trying to think of what he could do with this night.  
He didn't know anything that felt right, so he turned and moved to pick up his coat. Before he could move more than a step, Harry's hand clamped onto his arm. Louis came to an abrupt halt, held in his unbreakable grip. Turning to look at him, his stomach dropped to his legs, his eyes wide. He had reason to feel threatened, held this way, but he waited with his breath in his throat and both of them suspended in air waiting for something to happen.  
"Listen to me." Harry grit, his eyes fierce. "I did not choose to leave you, or for you to leave me."  
Louis swallowed, his hands balling into fists so that they didn't shake under the weight of Harry's intensity. He continued.  
"I thought about this for a week, and not for any of the other reasons I could have hesitated, but because I don't want to leave you. I don't want to leave you. If it weren't for the fact that this is temporary, I don't think that I would. I already chose you over my passion once, Louis, and it was terrifying. I chose to love you even when I was afraid of you, because you're the only person who makes me feel like a part of the story instead of the only one reading it. You're my heroine, for Christ's sake, Lou. I've never met a person in my life who makes me feel so fucking alive and so brave about being so, no one who reaches me the way that you do." He paused to breathe tensely for a moment, eyes burning him with their gaze. "If I thought I weren't coming back to you, I wouldn't leave. I'm not choosing the piece over you. I'm just chasing it a little farther from you... because I believe that you're tolerant of me. That you accept who I am, and who I am may as well be my paintings, or at least half of me. I don't want you to leave me for this..."  
Louis' fists shook in spite of how tightly he was holding them, his thought barely registering their tremble. He felt weak for a moment, as if the ground he stood on wasn't enough.  
"So what do you want me to do, then." His voice was strong, though it's instability was evident. "Let go of you? That easily?"  
"Only trust me to come back." Harry answered, his voice finally afraid. "And give me the freedom to go with the piece, and freedom to come back."  
"You're asking for a long time." Louis whispered. "A lot can change in just two months, if that. I could change. You could, Harry."  
Harry's eyes recognized his words, recognized the way that he changed with such serious frequencies. His hand became soft on his arm, lowering but staying softly around his arm.  
"I haven't stopped seeing you yet. And I don't think two months will change that."  
Louis grit his teeth, hating that he was saying 'two months'. It may not be two months, that was just a figure. It had every potential to be three, four, six, eight months. If his heart changed or if his art changed, or if the wind changed, that two months could become a year. And his love could become past. Could shift like the air.  
"I don't want to love a prisoner." Louis spoke, "But I'm not ready to start missing you yet, either. I haven't even been loving you for long."  
"You think I'm ready to miss you?" Harry's brow creased with disbelief, "I'm not doing this because it's easy. I'm doing it because I'm stubborn and because all I've ever wanted was to paint. The only reason you're making me hesitate is because you're the greatest catalyst in my art that I've ever experienced." Louis' thoughts returned to the art supplies, remembering himself as one of Harry's paintbrushes.  
"I don't want to be... a second or a... tool to your art. I don't want to be a variant of it. I want you to love me, as a person. Not because I change your art." Louis murmured doubtfully. Harry exhaled, his chest compressing.  
"Louis, if I didn't see you so clearly as a person, as you are, than I'd still be the man I was when you met me. My paints don't talk back the way you do."  
Louis' eyes wavered with weakness and fear. The knowledge and inevitability of Harry leaving him sinking in as he accepted it.  
"What am I supposed to do?" He mumbled helplessly.  
"Dance with me." Harry answered, "Please."  
Louis rolled his watery eyes, giving him a forlorn look. "Dance?"  
"Yes." He nodded, "Just don't leave."  
Louis looked away from him, eyes hot and forsaking of him. The irony.  
"I'll dance." His voice quiet and wrought with the content of his heart.  
Harry walked to his music player, playing something soft enough to give them sanctuary together. Any other day, and he would tease Harry about his surprising romantic tendency. Louis stood where he was, his bare feet warm in the soft carpet on the living room floor, hearing the music flow around him and colliding with his own atmosphere. He settled, accepting Harry when he returned to his side.  
Harry took his hand and lifted it into the space of their dance, his other wrapping around his waist. Louis' muscle loosened and he exhaled, lifting his hand to rest on his shoulder. He tilted his chin up to watch his eyes.  
They didn't speak, swaying slowly together. His body warmed Harry's, time passing as they breathed softly and they became quiet.  
"Do you think you'll miss me when you're gone? Or will it be different." Louis asked, hoping he didn't sound so much like his heart, which yearned like a child for him to stay.  
"Is the day long?" His voice vibrated against Louis' hand on his shoulder, deep and warm in his chest.  
"Seems like it just became far too long." He mumbled.  
"I'll be with your heart." Harry mumbled, "As terrible and ridiculous as that sounds, I will be in it."  
"Always." Louis whispered, caring less for sounding like an adult. It wasn't the end of the world, but it did seem like the end of one world, and if his voice became a litany far too romantic for their tastes than so be it.  
"Maybe I'll come back early." Harry murmured, but his eyes betrayed his distaste for saying such tying, definitive words.  
"It will be different, anyways." Louis shrugged graciously, meeting his eyes with sad acceptance and allowance of the truth.  
Harry didn't have any response, eyes flickering over his. As Louis swayed against him, the rain pattered against the windows, their bodies growing closer. He could feel his own heart beating with a low ache in his chest, soft and slow.  
"Do you want me to stay tonight?" Louis asked. Harry nodded.  
"Yeah." He repeated, lowering his head until their foreheads touched. Louis' eyes closed halfway, blinking softly, feeling his world narrow down into their living room. He wished it would stay that way.  
The music swayed with them as they leaned together without words.  
_Isn't the world full of wonderful things?_  
Louis lifted his chin just a bit to brush his nose against his, letting his exhales brush over his lips.  
_I have lost so many things, my job, my future, everything that people think is important._  
Louis tilted his mouth against his, kissing him softly with feather light depth. Their lips brushing.  
_But I don't care._  
Harry's swaying became even slower, his arms wrapping around Louis and letting go of his hand so that he could hold onto him.  
_'Cause even if I have to dig ditches for the rest of my life._  
Louis lifted one of his hands to lay against his jaw and neck, letting his fingers brush his curls.  
_I should be a ditch digger who once had a wonderful day._  
Harry kissed him deeper, some kind of sweetness lingering on his mouth that felt like dark chocolate, sweet but real and more than.  
"I love you, Lou." Harry mumbled against his mouth. "You know that."  
He thought of trying new recipes, and restaurants, and taking road trips. Plans that were supposed to be fulfilled.  
"Yeah, I know." He hummed, his voice steady and soft. He let himself think about falling asleep with him tonight. Having soup with him after they danced.  
"Even if everything changes." Harry whispered and Louis closed his mouth, eyes shut and brow creased at his words which weren't ashamed of any truth.  
_And that is all, that love's about._  
Louis lay his head against his chest, body soft and belonging in his hold.  
_And we'll recall, when time runs out._  
He felt him brush his nose against his nearly dry hair, nuzzling softly.  
_That it only,_  
Harry lay his cheek against the top of his head, swaying together, his arms tucked against his chest.  
_Took a moment,_  
The rain sighing and pattering against the windows, making everything smaller and less devastating than it was.  
_To be loved a whole life long._


End file.
